Love next door

elled like fresh-cut gra

the mailboxes stood in perfect rows, and smiles didn't always mean kindness. Jane Whitmore had lived there for nearly h

he mov

morning when the moving

h a mug of lukewarm coffee and the intention to mi

caught si

n glistening under the soft mid-morning sun, and a quiet confidence in his stride. He wore a black T-shirt, jeans, and a faded Yan

nked. On

nced h

eyes

, it was like tim

e didn't want to seem like she was. But the man next door was different. Not just because of his skin color-though in Maple

lt that way i

ince

om neighbors, and the way her mother always reminded h

not what her mo

load his life into the empty house nex

-

Jane had baked a ba

e and choosing the lemons that were just right. When the cookies were cooling, she wrapped them in pa

neighborly thi

n't need to b

palms three times on her jea

to rehearse what she'd say five

ere sh

ld knock, the

r now. Eyes a rich b

, voice softer

ly, then smiled. It was fai

ome you." She held up the plate like a pea

r. She half expected him to say no. But h

u," he said. "Than

replied. "Ja

h something behind it. "

e her want to ask what he did for a living or what kin

help unpacking

huckle. "You don'

. I mean... it's either that or I go back

laugh from him. "

-

d into something war

moved from Chicago, that he was a high school history teacher, and that he liked Nina Simone and classic vinyl. She told him about h

as e

tu

ld friends. They ta

shed-over a box, a plate, a reco

-

ed home and stood alone in her kitchen

Callahan across the street had

oud and proud, saying years ago, "A girl lik

t Damien's smile

world she lived in had a way

or. And this wasn't just

. She could feel it in

t love.

s somethi

too cl