out loud.
“Good morning,” she said. “I’m Karen Westbrook, president of the HOA.”
She waited like I was supposed to be impressed.
→
I didn’t offer a handshake, nor did I invite them past the timber gate. I just stood on my gravel driveway, holding my coffee mug, waiting.
“Can I help you?” I asked, keeping my voice flat.
Karen tapped the clipboard against her hip with practiced authority. “We noticed an unauthorized sign posted at the trailhead leading down to our new community retreat. I’m here as a courtesy to
