The boy next door

Clara Bennett had lived in the same little town for nineteen years, and she was quite certain she'd met every annoying person it had to offer. Then Oliver Hayes moved into the house next door.

Their first meeting happened on a Tuesday morning when Clara found him sitting on her garden wall, eating the strawberries she'd been saving for breakfast.

"Are you actually eating my strawberries?"

Oliver looked down at the little basket beside him. "Oh. Were these yours?"

"No, Oliver. I grow strawberries in my garden for the neighbourhood squirrels."

He laughed. Clara decided she disliked him immediately.

Unfortunately, Oliver had other plans. He seemed to appear everywhere she went: the bakery, the little bookshop on the high street, even her favourite bench by the river. And every single time, he had something irritating to say.

"You know," he remarked one afternoon at the bakery, "you look particularly grumpy today."

"And you look particularly available for being punched."

"See? That's the sort of warmth that makes me enjoy your company."

She hated how easily he made her laugh.

Things became considerably worse when Clara's best friend announced that she was organising a little charity event and needed volunteers. Clara agreed to help with the decorations. Oliver, apparently, had volunteered too.

"Absolutely not," Clara told her friend when she saw his name on the list.

"Oh, come on. He's lovely."

"He's a walking headache."

"Funny. He said you're the most interesting girl he's met since moving here."

Clara paused. "He said what?"

Her friend smiled innocently. "Nothing. Forget I mentioned it."

Naturally, Clara thought about it for the rest of the day.

On Saturday, she arrived at the event hall to find Oliver standing on a ladder, attempting to hang fairy lights. One side had fallen, the tablecloths were crooked, and he looked as though he'd been fighting with the decorations.

She folded her arms. "Need help?"

He looked down at her. "I was managing perfectly well until you arrived."

"Right. That's why the lights are hanging like they've given up on life."

He laughed so hard that the ladder wobbled.

Clara grabbed it instinctively.

"Oliver! Honestly!"

He climbed down, still smiling, and for a moment they stood closer than either expected. His expression softened.

"Thanks for catching that."

"Someone has to make sure you survive the afternoon."

"How sweet of you to care."

"Don't make me regret it."

He looked at her for another second before turning back to the lights.

But Clara noticed something she'd never paid attention to before.

He wasn't just the boy who stole her strawberries and made terrible jokes. He remembered how she took her tea. He always held the door open when her hands were full. And when she mentioned, almost absent-mindedly, that she'd been too busy to visit her grandmother, he offered to drive her without making a big deal of it.

It was becoming rather inconvenient to dislike him.

A week later, Clara found Oliver sitting on the garden wall again.

This time, he wasn't eating her strawberries. He was holding two cups of tea.

"Peace offering?" she asked.

"An apology for the strawberries."

"You're a week late."

"I wanted to make sure the apology was properly brewed."

She sat beside him, accepting the cup.

For a while, they watched the evening settle over the little street. Someone was playing music with their windows open, and the smell of freshly baked bread drifted from the house across the road.

"Can I ask you something?" Oliver said.

"That depends. Is it going to annoy me?"

"Probably."

"Go on, then."

He smiled, but there was a nervousness in his expression that she'd never seen before.

"Would you let me take you out sometime? Properly, I mean. Without stealing your food or accidentally insulting your gardening skills."

Clara pretended to consider it.

"Where would you take me?"

"Somewhere nice."

"That's not a location."

"Somewhere with good food."

"Better."

"And preferably somewhere you won't threaten to throw a drink at me."

"No promises."

Oliver laughed, looking down at his tea.

"So, is that a yes?"

Clara took another sip before answering.

"I suppose I could spare you one evening."

"How generous."

"Don't get excited."

"Too late."

She shook her head, smiling despite herself.

And just like that, the boy she'd spent weeks complaining about had become the boy she was looking forward to seeing tomorrow.

Their first date was at a tiny Italian restaurant in the next town. Oliver arrived ten minutes early, Clara arrived five minutes late, and both pretended not to have spent far too long deciding what to wear.

Dinner was easy. Conversation was easier. They talked about childhood embarrassments, terrible films, places they wanted to visit, and the ridiculous things people did when they had a crush.

"Have you ever had a crush on someone you couldn't stand?" Oliver asked.

Clara nearly choked on her drink.

"What sort of question is that?"

"A perfectly normal one."

"Sounds suspiciously personal."

He leaned back in his chair. "Just curious."

She narrowed her eyes. "Well, if I had, I'd certainly never tell him."

Oliver's smile grew.

"Good to know."

When he walked her home later that evening, neither seemed particularly interested in saying goodbye. They stopped outside her garden gate, beneath the warm glow of the streetlight.

"Tonight was nice," Clara admitted.

"Nice?" he repeated. "I was hoping for unforgettable."

"Don't push your luck."

He laughed, then looked at her a little more seriously.

"Clara, can I kiss you?"

For once, she had no clever reply ready.

So she smiled and stepped closer.

"You're taking an awfully long time to find out."

He kissed her, softly, and Clara realised that sometimes the most unexpected people had a way of becoming your favourite ones.

When they finally pulled apart, Oliver rested his forehead briefly against hers.

"So," he murmured, "does this mean I can have more strawberries?"

She stared at him.

"Go home, Oliver."

He laughed all the way to his front door.

Clara watched him disappear inside, still smiling to herself.

Tomorrow, she'd probably argue with him again.

She'd probably call him annoying, and he'd probably steal something from her fridge.

But now, at least, she had a perfectly good reason to keep him around.

And perhaps, she thought as she went inside, she'd buy extra strawberries.