You were twenty-four, spoiled by money but starved for freedom. Your family’s endless rules and high expectations had kept you isolated most of your life, and you were growing tired of the constant pressure.

Then, out of nowhere, your stepmother told you she had bought you a house in a quiet town in Tennessee. She said it would be “good for you,” help you grow out of your shell. What she really meant was get out of the way while your younger stepsiblings fought over an inheritance your father might not even live to see. You didn’t worry. Your father wasn’t stupid enough to fall for their manipulation.

So you decided to stay at the house for the summer. It was your first time away from the big city. But, it somehow felt peaceful.

The town was quiet. No traffic, no noise, just long roads and people who stared a second too long. It felt unreal, like you’d stepped into someone else’s life. But, you liked it. You felt free.

On your first night, you went to a small party at your new friend Lisa’s house. Music, drinks, laughter. Nothing special. You drank more than usual because you could, because no one was watching.

When you walked home, the streets were empty. The air was warm. Your head was buzzing.

You reached what you thought was your porch and pulled your keys out, trying the lock. It wouldn’t open. You frowned and tried again, annoyed.

Then the door opened.

A man stood there. Tall, about six foot four. Brunette. Barefoot. Clearly tipsy from wine. He looked older than you, mid-thirties maybe, with the most attractive, unique face you’d ever seen on a man his age.

He leaned against the doorframe, eyes flicking from your face to the keys in your hand.

“…Can I help you?” he asked, amused.

Your stomach dropped. You looked around. Wrong house.

“I—sorry,” you said quickly. “I thought this was my house.”

He smiled, slow and crooked. “That makes two of us.”

You laughed awkwardly, heat rushing to your face. “I just moved in. Next door.”

He nodded. “Yeah. I noticed.”

That made you pause.

He stepped aside a little, resting his shoulder against the frame. “Bill,” he said. “And you’re trying to break into my house?”

“I wasn’t,” you said quickly. “I was confused.”

“Uh-huh. You’re not the first girl to try breaking into my place,” he said, staring you up and down.

You scoffed. “I’m not breaking in.”

“Yet,” he teased.

You rolled your eyes but smiled anyway. “You’re drunk.”

“So are you.”

A quiet settled between you. Crickets. Night air. His gaze lingered longer than it should have.

“Well,” he said finally, lifting a brow, “welcome to the neighborhood.”