Poppy

The third time this week you found the macadamia-white-choco-chip cookies ravaged, still on the cookie tray in the kitchen, you knew it was war.

That little old nook, belonging to your so-called friendly neighbour, may have seemed all dainty and innocent, but you knew what was lurking behind those arching windows and the umbrella stand with daisies on it, oh yes, you did. 

It's a right git, you fumed, who is trying to sabotage you by pecking out all of the macadamia nuts in your bestselling cookies. What had you ever done to them?

Of course it was them. Unfortunately, the backdoors to both of your workplaces had the exact same lock, and so you both had the exact same key. And also, who else would have been competitive enough to do something so- so heinous? The circumstances had placed the blame quite clearly in your head.

What was more, is that your neighbour sent you similar dirty looks, as if you had done something to them. Well, this would not stand. 

Already you had been burning the candle at both ends, working overtime, and you did not have the patience for any more of this nonsense. 

You sighed, momentarily distracted as you saw a dormouse scampering around college kids who were sitting down to study, soft sunlight scattering through the windows on the days before their finals. Eventually, crumbs would be dropped, and the little thing scuttled away after tucking in. Dormice were really cute. You’ve wanted one ever since you read that one Enid Blyton novel, the one in which Phillip charms one and it ends up being really useful. Oh, please, if it had enjoyed the crumbs, let it scurry away down the street to a certain terrible establishment.

Oh right, a certain terrible establishment. Under your breath, you cheerfully wished that the owner of the nook would slip into a puddle as you took one last deep breath of those really nice vanilla candles, the ones that attracted dark academia enjoyers like moths. 

You swung the sign on your door to “CLOSED FOR LUNCH BREAK” and trudged the few paces to the traitor’s door, trying to ignore the cold pitter-patter of the rain. You took special delight in stomping some stray leaves and the mud into the overly-blithe welcome mat and kicking the silly umbrella stand.

Upon entering, you were greeted with the soft lull of the piano and the comfy atmosphere that follows home-baked pastries. It would have been very nice if it wasn’t the storefront of your competitor. It also would have been very nice if said competitor hadn’t just recognized your apron, and then you.

The two of you narrowed your eyes, initiating a staring contest. It was probably one-sided because they blinked almost immediately and then stormed over.

“What do you suppose you’re doing-” they hissed, trying to control their volume. You knew no such boundaries, given that you didn't work here, and went straight to loud accusations.

“What do you suppose I’m doing? You’re lucky I haven’t retaliated yet-”, you grabbed a stirrer and threateningly motioned stabbing them with it.

They gave up on whispering immediately, indignantly replying with, “OH REALLY, so you’ve got more planned? What are you gonna do next, steal more of my coffee beans and my cherry tomatoes-”

“Don’t be daft! I haven’t even been near your stupid- how dare you! How dare you, when you’ve been in here, pilfering my macadamias- ”

“What on earth are you talking about?,” they were now more confused than anything.

“What are you talking about?”

Paying customers were noticing the kerfuffle though, so they decided to pace on the sidewalk, right in-between your two establishments. 

You glowered at each other for a few seconds, waiting for the other to explain. The wind whipped their hair around and the cold stung your cheeks. You wished you could’ve fought it out inside, maybe with a mug of hot chocolate. Then suddenly, you both lurched into your own sides of the story, things like their coffee beans and homegrown fruits going missing and the latest destruction of your cookies following your puff pastries, both of your voices becoming more hysterical as it became more apparent that there was something else going on. 

“So what you’re saying is, that none of those things were you?”

You thought you could detect a slight apologetic lilt in their voice, so you softened too. “Any idea who could it have been then?”

A dormouse darted by your feet, with a cherry tomato clutched in its teeth.

OH. 

Woodland dormice are odd little creatures.  Hadn’t you seen one... just this morning?

Your neighbour had a delayed reaction, shrieked and backed away. Unimpressed, you requested any snacks that they might have in their pockets to attract the little fella. They tossed a slice of apple and you beckoned.

“I am not going near that- wait. Is that one of my tomatoes?”

“So what if it is?,” you called, your back turned to them, your entire focus on getting the dormouse to be your friend with the apple slice. “We can spare-”

“They aren’t our tomatoes, they’re mine! You have no idea how hard it was to grow them with these little menaces around.”

“Don’t interrupt me, I’ll nick some of them anyway-”

The dormouse chirped loudly, evidently hoping for a more substantial meal.

You softly cooed at it. The owner of the nook did not seem to know which of you to direct their glare to. “Oh, so when the dormouse interrupts you, it’s fine, but when I do it, it’s an unforgivable offence and I should trip and die in a puddle,” they muttered, tugging at the sleeves of their sweater. 

“Hi, sweetheart, I’m gonna call you Poppy,” you whispered, a genuine warmth spreading from your heart as you held it in your cupped hands. “You went for my macadamias, didn’t you? Aren’t you a clever little thing?”

“The little scamp’s been double-timing us and you-” A leaf chose that moment to smack them in the face.

“...tell Poppy it owes me several cherry tomatoes.”