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Had the neighbors not known any better, they would’ve thought the screaming coming from the Dutch Colonial down the street was someone being murdered.
But really, it was just Adalind being dramatic, following by Nick’s deep-bellied laughter she desperately shielded herself from the line of fire – err, water – by ducking behind her car.
“Stop!” she shrilled when he raised the hose to extend its reach. It rained on her side of the vehicle and she screeched. “Nick! Stop! It’s so cold!”
Had he not employed its full length, he would’ve stepped closer so she couldn’t escape, but the green rubber tool was at full distance – long enough to water the lush greenery lining the outer house but not enough to reach the asphalt that featured both her bright red Beemer and his relatively older Jeep.
“Please,” she wailed. “Oh my God! Stop!! I just dried my hair!”
He married a barbie.
He would’ve admired how aptly she ducked behind her car when he first fired. She jumped, as if stung by a bullet, and then rushed to the closet form of protection she could – her car. Unfortunately, she hadn’t brought her keys, and the car was locked. Her protection was limited and he found plenty of loopholes. Hiking the hose higher, the line of water extended further – parading down on the helpless blonde.
“I hate you!” she screeched as the onslaught persisted. “C’mon! I have things to do! I hate being wet!”
She was dressed in less layers than he. He was casual in jeans and a button up. She was dolled up in a set of shorts and a blue-striped racer tee. She didn’t bother wearing shoes when she ventured out to the front, nor did she suspect her husband would turn on her.
“I’m just cooling you down,” he chuckled.
“You’ve succeeded! It’s enough!”
“Have some fun!”
“I was until you attacked me!”
“You’re so dramatic! It’s just water!”
“It’s freezing!” She screeched.
Nick noticed a gaping onlooker – the nosy senior two doors down – giving them a disapproving look. He waved, prompting to continue on her walk.
“I’m soaked! I’m cold! Stop! You won!”
“Fine, fine, I’ll stop,” Nick chuckled. He eased off the trigger and the water came to a halt.
She wavered, unsure if it was a false pretense.
It was comical how shifty her eyes were and he couldn’t hide a snort when her head peaked over the car ever so wearily.
He was lowering the hose but his hand was still attached. He was just waiting for the opportune moment.
They had horrible trust issues, he mused delightfully.
“Don’t,” she warned.
“Grimm’s honor,” he preached.
“There is no honor amongst Grimms!” she shrilled, dashing out. He was already prepared, following her hasty feet with a direct blast. She screamed the entire distance, clambering onto the porch and towards the door. The water bounced off the panes and glass. She sloppily pried open the screen door and then the heavy oak behind it, pulling it rapidly behind her as she sought refuge inside.
His smile faltered when her head peaked through the small slit of glass on the historic door, grinning ear to ear. It was then he realized what had transpired. He dropped the hose and darted to the garage, which she followed.
A shake of the knob indicated she beat him to it. He huffed and hightailed it to the back, only to discover the rackety door leading into the back hallways was also locked. A snippet of blonde hair wisped by and then peaked through the nearby window, teasing him with a wink.
He pointed to the knob. She shook her head. He scowled. She shrugged.
Had Nick not been a paranoid man seasoned detective, he wouldn’t have shot himself in the foot. Yet, he did, and now he was standing under his window contemplating how to break into his own house, and with a frustration contemplated breaking the glass barrier as a last resort because he could count on fact not a single window would budge.
It was a blistering ninety degrees and he was locked out while Adalind was enjoying the comforts of a cool-seventy-something degree house, which he’d certainly be paying for since she insisted on dialing the AC on full blast.
The Hexenbiest was cackling on the other side. Now that she had the upper edge, she was beaming down at him from the living room side of the house. He spied a sarcastic shrug on her end while he shook his head, unamused.
“Seriously?” he spoke up.
“You shot me!” she replied back.
“With water!” He emphasized. “What the worst thing that can happen, you’ll melt??”
Like the mature forty-something-year-old she was, she dignified his response with a classic move: poking her tongue out and mocking a pout.
“You’re going to regret this,” he warned.
Nick Burkhardt would not concede defeat. He huffed and examined his surroundings, desperately brainstorming plans.
Minutes ago, she had successfully beat him to all the doors. He should’ve seen it coming. Just as quickly as she had lunged behind her car, out of reach from the hose, she had employed the same speed to the front door when he promised to relent. She knew him too well – the moment he feigned, she rushed out from behind her BMW and towards the porch. A solid slam and distinct click of the door came all too apparent and too late for Nick – and now he was in a pickle because she effectively beat him to all entry points in his pitiful attempt to level the playing field.
First the garage, followed by the back door (which should’ve been solved by a spare key – but it was missing, which he suspected was one of the kids’ fault), and now she was shadowing the windows just in case.
“Can you at least give me something to drink?” he pleaded, rounding his way to the front again.
“Fine,” she granted brightly.
And to her credit, she opened the small kitchen window that hovered over the sink – too small for Nick’s blocky body to crawl through – and offered a tall glass of lemonade.
“Are we really playing this game?” he whined, accepting the gesture.
“You started it!” she laughed.
“It’s called having fun!”
“For who? That water is freezing!”
“It’s hot out!”
“So, douse yourself! Not me!”
“Adalind!” he pleaded, employing his best effort to win her sympathy.
“No!”
“Truce?”
“Too late!”
So, there he was, confined to the front stoop of his porch, basking in the small haven of shade it offered in the midst of a humid summer day. Nick didn’t call himself a proud man. He wasn’t ashamed to do what he did next.
To Kelly: Can you bring back a strawberry ice cream asap?
To Dad: Why?
To Kelly: Your mom locked me out of the house
To Dad: …
To Dad: why?
To Kelly: I sprayed her with the hose
To Dad: why?
To Kelly: Is that your new favorite word?
To Kelly: Look – just hurry with the ice cream. It’s hot out.
To Dad: You don’t like strawberry ice cream. Is this for mom?
To Kelly: YES
To Dad: I only have $20.
To Kelly: a little thing of ice cream is not that expensive
To Dad: why should I spend money to bail you out of this mess?
To Kelly: I wouldn’t be in this mess is someone didn’t misplace the spare key. Hmm? Was that the sound of someone reconsidering their attitude?
To Dad: Blame Di. Not me.
To Kelly: Then if I were to check the tapes this last week, I won’t see you sneaking out from the back…?
To Dad: FINE. I’ll be there in 10 minutes.
To Kelly: Was that so hard?
To Kelly: Thank you. I love you.
To Dad: YOU OWE ME
To Kelly: I’ll pay your allowance in advance
“You’re the best!” Nick greeted the twelve-year-old.
“I know,” the boy deadpanned. He handed the plastic bag to his father.
“Great, c’mon, sit with me.”
“It’s hot. I want to go inside.”
“And so do I, son.”
“Wait – why can’t I go inside?” Kelly asked in a panic as his father pulled him down beside him. “Dad, Dad, Dad! No! This is a hostage situation! No! MOM!”
“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” Nick chuckled.
“Mom! Help!” Kelly raised his voice.
Kelly certainly got his dramatics from his mother.
“That’s low,” Adalind declared from the partially opened kitchen window.
“Don’t leave me out here!” Kelly begged. “I walked five blocks! I’m thirsty!”
“Let the boy in, Adalind,” Nick seconded.
“And then what? You’ll rush in, too!”
“YOU’RE NOT LEAVING ME OUT HERE, ARE YOU?” Kelly shrilled, betrayed. “Mom, let it go!”
“I promise-”
“Your promises mean nothing to me, Nick! What’s to say you won’t get me back?”
“We’re even. I learned my lesson,” Nick pacified.
She scowled, distrustful.
“Holding your own son hostage? How the mighty have fallen,” Adalind condemned.
“I brought ice cream, your favorite,” Nick supplied.
“You two are adults! Figure it out! I’m dying of heatstroke!” Kelly groaned.
Her figure disappeared towards the door, and a click signaled they breached her defenses. She stood guard of the door, arms crossed, while Kelly scurried inside seeking out the nearest glass of lemonade.
“That wasn’t funny,” she accused Nick with a pointed finger.
“I thought it was a little funny,” Nick bemused.
“I’m drenched.”
“So am I,” Nick countered. He was glistening with sweat. His choice of shirt was the darkest variety and he was paying for it. “I love you.”
“Don’t try to weasel your way into my good graces,” she squirmed when he took hold of her waist. He rocked her in a subtle sway inside, basking in the refreshing coolness. “You stink.”
“Wonder who’s fault that is?” he humored, enjoying the feel of her body. He never tired of how small she was and the coolness was a welcomed sensation compared to the stickiness that overwhelmed his torso.
“Say it back,” he murmured against her lips.
“That wasn’t a sorry,” she mumbled, returning the soft gesture.
“Hmm. Try again.”
“You two are gross,” Kelly grimaced. He was at the age PDA was labelled “ugh” and he couldn’t escape fast enough to his room.
“Get rid of the shirt. It’s disgusting.”
“You could help with that, later,” he amended.
“Get your mind out of the gutter,” she giggled.
“Hey – hey – back on topic: I want to hear it.”
“Fine,” she pouted, wrapping her arms around his torso. “I love you. I’m sorry for locking you out.”
“I’m sorry – for – ruining – your hair – and I will – take any – punishment – you have in store for me,” he said between pecks and then rested his forehead against hers. “Forgive me?”
“All is forgiven,” she spoke after a long pause, “if you organize the garage.”
Nick uttered a low groan. “Sure,” he conceded.
“Yay! Thank you! Love you!” she said with more enthusiasm.
“Kelly! We have a project! Get your butt down here!”
“Dad! Why!?”
“Teenagers,” Adalind chuckled. “So much attitude.”