Ned woke up the next morning with a sense of heaviness, and not just because of the dark circles under his eyes from a sleepless night. The memory of the previous day was fresh, and he could still see the tantalizing sight of Marge playing in his mind on an endless loop. The dimples on her back, just above the tailbone. Her sun-kissed shoulders peppered with freckles he'd never noticed before. Ned grabbed a tube of toothpaste and squeezed out a white pasty glob onto his brush and continued with his reveries. That sultry voice of hers, crooning to a melody he'd never heard before. Her cascading hair that framed two, full, pink-tipped—Ned suddenly gagged violently. He carefully looked at his toothpaste tube that said: Anti-Perspirant Foot Cream.
After rinsing his mouth seven times, he finally made his way down to the kitchen, his sons Rod and Todd already sitting at the breakfast table. As they chatted away about their day's plans, Ned forced himself to put on a cheery facade. He put on his favorite apron and started to prepare pancakes, trying to drown out the relentless blur of forbidden images that filled his head. They seemed to be as bewitching and impossible to ignore as that one unfortunate time in his reckless youth when he had accidentally seen an MTV video at a relative's house.
"Daddy," Todd's angelic chime questioned from behind his back, "I do believe you're not supposed to fry the pancake mix without adding water to it."
Over at the Simpson's house, Marge had woken up early as usual. Homer was still sleeping off his latest late-night bender. Lisa was already off to her recital practice, and Bart was at Milhouse's. The house felt eerily quiet, amplifying the sound of her heart pounding in her chest as she thought about the previous day's events. She remembered Ned's flustered face and felt a pang of guilt mixed with a strange thrill.
Determined to face the day, she put on a brave smile and prepared breakfast. As she glanced towards the Flanders' house, she saw Ned waving his sons goodbye as they left for their Sunday school. Catching her eye, he waved at her, a hesitant, almost apologetic smile on his face. Marge waved back, feeling her cheeks grow warm.
Later in the day, as Marge was watering her flowers, she heard Ned's voice coming from somewhere high up.
"I didn't see you at church today, Mrs. Simpson."
Marge flinched and almost dropped the watering can. She hastily set it down and peered around to locate the source of her neighbor's voice. Ned was standing on a ladder, pruning the Simpsons' tree that grew well over the picket fence that marked the border between their homes.
"Oh, yes, well..." Marge's mind frantically browsed options for a polite white lie. "Homer is feeling under the weather. I wasn't sure if it was something contagious." She kept her gaze firmly on the ground, the tips of her ears glowing red.
Ned paused his trimming, looking down at Marge with a hint of concern in his eyes. "I hope it's nothing too serious. If there's anything I can do to help, just let me know."
Marge smiled appreciatively. "Thank you, Ned. That's very kind of you. I'll make sure he gets some rest."
As Ned climbed down from the ladder, he brushed off his hands and approached Marge. "Say, would you mind if I took a look at your roses? I noticed they could use some pruning."
Marge nodded, relieved for the distraction. "Sure, go ahead. They've been a bit neglected lately."
Ned examined the roses with a careful eye, expertly trimming away the wilted blooms and overgrown branches. As Ned worked his way through Marge's flowerbeds, the two continued exchanging pleasantries and sharing their thoughts on gardening. The initial awkwardness from the morning slowly dissipated, and they were now more at ease in each other's company.
Feeling emboldened, Marge decided to break the ice. "Ned, about yesterday… I'm so sorry, I didn't expect anyone to come over. I hope we can put that awkward moment behind us." Her voice was steady, but she couldn't hide the blush creeping up her cheeks.
Ned swallowed hard and finally met her gaze. "Oh, well, you know… these things happen, neighborino. No harm done, I reckon." Despite his words, his eyes revealed a certain uncertainty.
They shared a soft laugh, the tension undulating between them.
Just as they were about to bid each other farewell, Bart came barreling down the street, attempting a parkour stunt with his skateboard. In his usual reckless manner, he missed his target, and instead of jumping over the mailbox, he crashed right into it.
The mailbox flew off its post, spinning through the air before landing with a thud. Bart groaned, rubbing his scraped knees, but Marge and Ned couldn't help but laugh at the comedic spectacle.
"Ah, Bart! Always the daredevil," Marge nervously tittered, trying to hide the relief that washed over her. She scurried to Bart's side, ushering him inside to get his knees checked.
"Thank you for your help with the roses, Ned." She smiled timidly and disappeared into the Simpsons' house, a bemoaning Bart in tow.
Once inside, Marge set Bart on the kitchen counter, pulling out the first aid kit. She cleaned his wounds and applied bandages, all the while admonishing him for his reckless stunt. But even as she went through these motions, her mind was elsewhere.
With Bart patched up, she handed him a popsicle from the freezer as a peace offering and sent him off to his room. She then found herself back at the front door. Her hand hovering over the knob. As she opened the door, she stopped dead in her tracks. The mailbox, previously battered and lying askew, now stood perfectly upright and pristine as if nothing had happened to it at all.
Looking around, she realized Ned was nowhere to be seen. She walked over to the mailbox, running her fingers over its surface, the fresh paint smell still lingering.