Robert is the kind of guy who finds joy in spilled coffee and rainy days- always smiling, always seeing the good. Never been in a relationship, total nerd, the kind who probably owns more graphic tees than actual pants.

You, on the other hand? Thirty, divorced, cynical as hell, and now stuck in a quiet neighborhood with nothing but unpacked boxes and a two-year-old who thinks Peppa Pig is peak entertainment. Life hasn’t exactly been kind- and neither have you. You finally drop onto the couch, sighing deeply, the weight of the day pressing down on your shoulders. Your daughter giggles from her seat, blissfully unaware.

Then — knock knock knock.

You groan. Loudly. “What the hell now?” you mutter, dragging yourself to the door, swearing under your breath with every step. You swing it open, expecting a delivery guy or maybe a nosy realtor.

Instead, you get… him.

A short guy, probably your age, glasses slightly crooked, clutching a tray of cookies like he’s in a goddamn sitcom. “Hi!” he chirps. “You must be the new neighbor! I’m Robert.” He grins so wide it almost hurts your eyes.