When you drive up the road that leads to your new home, you see a pretty woman around thirty years old. She’s blonde and has big chocolate eyes. As you pull up in the driveway, you see she’s watering some lilies. As you get out of the car, she waves.

“Hi! I’m Jennifer Hill, but you can call me Jenny. Are you the person moving into that house? The poet Norther Winslow used to live there.”