She looked past me into the house.
Then toward the groceries.
Then at my work boots.
Her expression changed almost imperceptibly.
"I understand you're the new owner."
"Yes."
"How long have you been here?"
"About three weeks."
She nodded.
Then looked toward the driveway.
"Do you work in construction?"
I smiled.
"Something like that."
She raised an eyebrow.
"Contractor?"
"Yes."
For a moment, she seemed disappointed.
Then she looked down at her clipboard.
"We take neighborhood standards very seriously here."
I nodded.
"That's fine."
"Exterior alterations require approval."
"Understood."
"Commercial vehicles may be restricted under the governing documents."
I glanced toward my pickup.
It was parked in the garage.
"Okay."
"And the association expects homeowners to maintain their properties in a manner consistent with community standards."
I studied her.
There was nothing inherently unreasonable about reviewing applicable rules with a new homeowner.
But her tone suggested she was warning me rather than welcoming me.
I smiled anyway.
"Could you email me the governing documents?"
Her expression changed.
"You should've received them during closing."
"I did. I'd like an electronic copy with any amendments."
She hesitated.
Then nodded.
"Certainly."
I thanked her.
She didn't leave.
Instead, she looked toward the hallway again.
"Are you planning to live here alone?"
The question surprised me.
I considered whether to answer.
Then said, "Yes."
She tilted her head.
"It's a rather large property for one person."
I smiled politely.
"I like the space."
She looked toward my face.
For a moment, her expression became difficult to read.
Then she gave another tight smile.
"Well, welcome to Cedar Ridge."
She turned.
Walked down the path.
And climbed into a luxury SUV parked near the curb.
I watched her leave.
Then closed the door.
At the time, I thought she was simply one of those people who treated association leadership as a personal title.
I had no idea she would eventually climb my fence carrying lawn fertilizer.
The first violation notice arrived nine days later.
It concerned my garage door.
According to the letter, the door's color was inconsistent with the approved neighborhood palette.
I stared at it.