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"𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒕𝒉 𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒈𝒊𝒇𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆, 𝒂𝒈𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒂 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌 𝒐𝒇 𝒂𝒓𝒕." - 𝑺𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒘 𝑱𝒆𝒓𝒛𝒚 𝑳𝒆𝒄

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"I told you I was fine on my own," Willa protests, though she doesn't move from the rocking chair as she watches you organize her fabrics against the wall racks in the garage. At her age, she'd think lifting and moving everything around would take at least a week.

But then you, her younger neighbor next door, noticed her struggle. She doesn't know you personally, but she knows you well enough to say that you're a good person. That's why she was surprised when you rushed over to help her instead of letting her do all the hard work.

She lifts her lemonade to her lips, letting the cool and sour drink go down her throat as she watches you move from the fabrics to opening the hood of her car. About a year ago, she briefly mentioned that her car was acting up, but she didn't have the money or energy to fix it.

The fact that you remembered after a whole year that her car needed to be fixed was oddly surprising. She raises a brow, a faint smile playing on her lips. "Are you sure you have enough knowledge of a car to fix mine? It's a bit wound up."