She smiled as our cars were hauled away, convinced she had won some neighborhood battle. But by the next morning, she was standing on her porch in shock, facing a $25,000 mistake she’d never forget. Jack and I had only spent one night in the house. It was a small, single-story rental tucked into a quiet suburb. Tan bricks. Green shutters. A patchy lawn that looked like it hadn’t been watered since spring.
We were just here on a temporary assignment for work. Nothing long-term. Nothing exciting. We had barely finished unpacking the coffee maker when the doorbell rang. Jack groaned. “We don’t even have curtains up yet.” I checked the peephole. “Well, looks like the Welcome Committee’s here.” He peeked. “Yikes. She’s holding cookies.” I opened the door. There stood a woman in a pastel pink cardigan, a matching headband, and white capri pants. Her smile was bright, but her eyes? Way too busy for someone handing out baked goods. “Hi there!” she said, voice high and chirpy. “I’m Lindsey. I live right across the street. Just wanted to stop by and say hello!”
She held out a tray of cookies. They were chocolate chip. Perfect rows. Not a crumb out of place. “Well, thank you,” I said, taking the tray. “That’s very kind.” Jack gave her a lazy wave. “Appreciate it.” Her smile didn’t budge, but her eyes kept flicking behind us. Over my shoulder. Then over Jack’s.
She leaned slightly, like she was trying to peek inside. I stepped to the side. Her gaze traveled down our hallway. Then back toward the living room. “You folks settling in okay?” she asked, blinking fast. “Yeah,” I said slowly. “Just moved in yesterday.” “Such a lovely area,” she said, her eyes darting back to the doorframe. “Quiet. Clean. Very…orderly.” Jack crossed his arms. “We’re just here for work. Shouldn’t be any trouble.” “Oh, I’m sure!” she said, her tone a little too bright. “Just wanted to say welcome. And one quick thing…” I could feel it coming. That shift from cookies to complaints.
“Our HOA—very friendly, but firm—has a rule about cars,” she said. “Only one per household in the driveway.” I blinked. “One car?” “Yes,” she said, her tone tightening. “No exceptions. Keeps the neighborhood looking nice and tidy.” Jack raised his eyebrows. “But we’re not parking on the street. Both cars fit on the driveway just fine.”
“I know,” she said with a little head tilt. “But it’s still two cars. One house. One driveway. One car.” “We’re just here temporarily,” I said. “Not permanent residents.” She smiled wide. “Rules apply to everyone. That’s the beauty of it.” Jack gave her a long look. “Well, thanks for the cookies.” “Enjoy them!” she chirped. “And don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll settle in just fine.” We closed the door. “That was a lot,” Jack said.”She looked past me like she expected to see a drug deal going down in the kitchen,” I said, setting the tray on the counter.
“Hey!” I shouted. “What the hell is going on?” One of the tow truck guys didn’t even look up. “Violation of HOA regulation. Only one car per home. Orders came in this morning.” “From who?” Jack snapped. “There’s no posted warning! No notice!” That’s when we saw her. Lindsey. She stood on the sidewalk in a lavender bathrobe, arms folded across her chest, coffee mug in hand. Her smile was wider than ever. Like she had just won something.
