“Claire’s right,” he said. “Stop calling me for things around your house. If something breaks, use one of those numbers.”

Vanessa’s face went red.

I didn’t make a speech.

I took Irvin’s hand.

And we went home.

For about forty minutes, I felt fantastic.

Then I started wondering what Vanessa would do after being embarrassed in front of half the neighborhood.

I got my answer quickly.

First came petty complaints.

Irvin mowing the lawn at noon.

Our trash cans supposedly being visible from the street.

Annoying.

But harmless.

Then the letter arrived.

I stood in my kitchen and read it twice.

My home bakery had to stop operating immediately pending a compliance review.

I had permits.

I had passed inspections.

But after several frantic phone calls, I discovered one problem.

The converted garage itself had never received final approval for commercial use.

Irvin had renovated it years earlier.