There's a lot of great things I've experienced over the past two weeks. I've been able to get a lot of inspiration, the lack of pressure due to not having to pay monthly rent has totally helped my painting output, and walking around the lake a lot has given my legs some tone that... well, I don't want to be arrogant, but I think the pegs are looking damn good if I do say so myself.

But still, the supermarket in Lakeville could use some work. “Honestly?” I mutter to myself as I look over the dairy case. “Nothing organic?”

“Organic is an idea that they haven't heard of around here,” a pleasant tenor voice says behind me. I turn, seeing a handsome man in jeans and a slightly greenish-blue button down shirt. His hair's styled perfectly, parted two thirds one third in the epitome of a businessman’s haircut, and I'd swear he's got caps on his teeth and his face is booth tanned. “If you want organic, you're going to have to wait until the Sunday farmer's market.”

“Sunday farmer's market?” I ask. “Hadn't heard of that.”

“You must be new in town,” the man says, giving me a slightly too-perfect handsome smile. “Hi, I'm Justin Cassady.”

“Chrissy O'Hara,” I answer, giving him a polite smile.

“O'Hara… you wouldn't happen to be Winnie O'Hara's granddaughter?” Justin asks, his face beaming. “I heard that you were moving into town, but I've been away for a bit.”

“You must be my neighbor,” I reply, smiling back. “I saw that your car was parked in front when I went for a walk around sunrise.”

Justin nods, reaching down to grab a half gallon of whole milk. As he does he just breaks my personal space barrier, and it's totally intentional, I can see it in his eyes. “I just got back from a business trip to the city, although if I'd known we were neighbors I would have hurried things up. The last two days were mostly a waste of my time.”

He continues prattling along as I grab my own milk, the two of us sort of paralleling each other through the rest of my shopping list. The whole time, he's subtly flirting, but it's not working. Nothing against him, I’m sure he could get a date any Friday night he wants with three quarters of the single women in the world, but he’s just too beige for me. He’s the sort of guy who probably listens to Phil Collins and thinks the lyrics are deep and meaningful.

“So I moved out here after that deal netted me about a million dollars,” Justin explains as I put a jar of salsa in my cart. I think it's about the hundredth time he's used the word 'I' in our conversation, but he hasn't yet asked me a thing about myself except for when I moved into the house, mostly to give me his expert appraisal of the value of the property. That’s another thing about him, he’s definitely not lacking in best friend, because his best friend is Justin Cassady. The man loves himself a lot.

“It's been really great, being able to have the views of the lake while I work, and it beats the hell out of sitting in a regular office,” Justin continues. “Besides, I don't have to do a lot of the showings any longer, I'm only on site for when it's people who count.”

Well now, that's a little rude. Sure, Justin doesn't quite know it, but he more or less said that people like me, without million dollar bank accounts, don't matter. “I see. So you're mostly in real estate?”

“I'm looking at diversifying, but that's what's made my bread and butter,” Justin confirms. “I'm thinking of investing in a car dealership honestly, mostly fleet sales but still having a presence out here. If you haven't noticed, local car sales are total shit.”

That's another thing that I'm not sure I like about Justin. Sure, no town's perfect, but there's a world of difference between saying that a town could use more options and saying it's total shit. Honestly, if you don't like the place so much, why’d you move here in the first place?

“So… what do you do?” Justin finally asks as we push our carts into the checkout line. Up ahead is a pinch faced woman with a name tag of Bobbi, who I figure is the one that Dirk and Willow have told me to watch out for.

“I'm an artist,” I reply, starting to unload my cart on the conveyor belt. “I do paintings mostly.”

“Anything I'd know?” Justin asks. “How much do your pieces normally go for?”

I bite back my answer, which is that I doubt Justin would know art if it came up and bit him in the ass. It’s just the side of business I don’t like in art… that of business. While I wish that every person who bought my pieces was either the curator of an art museum who wanted to immortalize my pieces forever or a true auteur who'd do the same in their own home, the fact is most art is bought by blowhards who only do it because they need something to stick on the walls of their office in order to look like they’re moving up in the world.

“I'm still making my way up in the world,” I reply instead, taking the last items out of my basket. “I hope this next show will do well, but that's the way art goes. You never quite know.”

Justin nods, even though I can tell he has no idea what I'm saying. “I understand,” he blathers, unloading his stuff onto the conveyor belt now. “It's like real estate. There are times I've been riding high, and other times I need to just hang in there.”

“Right,” I comment neutrally, putting him out of my mind as I pay for my groceries. I ignore the looks from Bobbi as Justin keeps talking, unwilling to let go of the conversation.

“So… I was sort of wondering if you'd like to have dinner sometime soon?” Justin asks, sensing that I'm ready to leave. “I mean, we're neighbors, and I could maybe do a little barbecue....”

“Thanks for the offer, but with the show coming up, I'm really busting my butt to try and get the last pieces finished,” I lie through my teeth. “Once I get home, I'm going to be painting until a really stupid hour or something. And you know how artists are, once we get going it'd take an act of God to get us to stop.”

“Oh well… I guess I understand,” Justin says. “In any case, I'll pop by sometime maybe, see how you're doing?”

“I'm sure,” I respond, my patience wearing thin. “I really need to get going.”

Before Justin can say anything I push my cart out the door, heading for my scooter. There's not a lot of cargo space on it, but between my backpack and the little basket I've got on the back, I manage. Firing it up just as Justin comes out, I ignore his wave as I turn right, heading back towards the house.

It wasn't that he was mean… just totally self absorbed. Other than asking me what I did, nearly every comment or statement he made was about him. In fact, he almost never even asked questions, but just went on, and on, an on about himself.

He didn't even have interesting things to talk about. Starting from the moment he dropped the amount of money that he made in his 'deal' that brought him out to Lakeville, it was all about dollar signs. Even asking me how much I charge for a painting, like I'm somebody just trying to hustle their way in the park doing quick landscapes or caricatures for twenty bucks a pop.

Still, Justin's comments did make me think about something. Since moving in, I haven't introduced myself to my other neighbor either. I've seen him around, working in his yard, running on the trails, stuff like that, but other than a wave I haven't really done the right thing.

“I should go introduce myself,” I say to the wind as I turn onto the road that leads out to the lake. After all, it is the neighborly thing to do. As I ride, I try to think about what I should make him. I'm not that great a cook, I'm pretty plain although I'm working on it.

But I do have one go-to recipe. Grandma Winnie worked with me a whole summer on it, I'd had a bad case of chickenpox and then broke my ankle falling down the stairs outside. Instead of letting me sit around and mope or watch way too damn many soap operas, she and I made apple pies. I think in the seven weeks I was laid up I made at least a dozen pies, all from scratch.

I've kept up those skills, so while I might not be able to make spaghetti that would impress anyone's Italian grandma… I can do an apple pie.

“Decision made,” I declare, braking my scooter and turning around. I don't have to go all the way back into town, there's a little fruit stand on the corner where I can get something. Maybe not apples, but I've experimented a little, I can get something that'll make one kick ass pie.

Pulling up, I hop off my scooter and walk up, it's not very big of a stall. “Hey, what's really fresh?” I ask the woman who's sitting in an old folding chair and looking half bored. “I'm thinking of making a pie.”

“Well, let me think,” she says in that way that I swear people do when they're not really thinking and just stalling to try and wake up from their daydreaming. “Pie… pie… right now we've got some very early summer berries coming in that would be good. You could do an icebox strawberry pie, or if you want a traditional type, there's some delicious peaches.”

“Let's go with the peaches,” I reply, looking them over. They do look nice and juicy, and I pop a sample slice into my mouth, moaning happily. It's beautiful, I don't think I'm going to need a lot of sugar at all. “Okay… let's get about six or eight then. That should be enough for a good pie, right?”

“Easily,” the old woman says, smiling a little now that she knows I'm going to give her some money. God bless the country types, they’re some of the most capitalist people I’ve ever met. “Anything else?”

“Sure… those strawberries look like they'd go perfectly with the ice cream I've got at home. I'll take one pack of those too. How much?”

“Twelve dollars,” the woman says, and I hand over fifteen. “Here's-”

“Keep the change,” I reply, holding my hand up. “As juicy as these are, they're worth the extra three bucks. I'm going to have to come by here more often. All of this is local?”

“Mostly,” the woman says, her smile widening. “I grow some of them in my backyard, I've got a few people with other trees around the lake who sell through me. Bananas aren't local though.”

I chuckle, nodding. “Didn't think so. Okay, have a good day.”

I remount my bike, seeing Justin come driving by as I do. He doesn't see me, but that's okay. It wasn't like he was a jerk or anything, just… not the sort of person I want to spend time with.

Hopefully, with a little bit of my delicious pie, I'll get to meet my other neighbor, and see if he's any more interesting.