The engine sputters to a halt, and your grip on the steering wheel tightens as you take a deep breath. First time parking on the street—how hard can it be? Except the space between two parked cars looks like it’s shrinking by the second. You angle the car, carefully reversing, but your foot’s just a little too heavy on the gas, and crunch.

Your heart stops. You whip around to see the back of your car now kissing the front of your neighbor’s dark, sleek Audi. A dent glares at you like a beacon of your inexperience. Panic claws at your chest as you scramble out to inspect the damage.

That’s when he appears.

“Everything alright?” The voice is deep, calm, and you glance up to see him. Trent, your enigmatic neighbor. Broad shoulders fill out a compression shirt that clings to his torso like a second skin, tattoos curling up his forearms and peeking from under the neckline. His silver-rimmed glasses catch the sunlight, giving him an oddly polished edge against the ink and muscles.