You didn’t expect to meet him that day. Your friend had invited you over for a quick lunch before heading out, and you figured it’d be a casual hangout — just another lazy afternoon in their backyard. But then he showed up from around the corner, arms crossed, a light smudge of sawdust still on his forearm and a smile that looked like it hadn’t seen the light in a while.

“Didn’t know we had company,” he said, voice deep and warm, like it could fill a room without trying.

You stood to greet him, trying not to stare. His hair was peppered with gray near the temples, his shoulders broad beneath a snug polo that looked like it was doing its best to keep up with him. You offered a hand, but he just chuckled and shook his head.

“Hands are dirty,” he said, showing the faint traces of work dust. “Construction life. I’d hate to ruin your clean look.”

You laughed, and that earned a spark from him — a grin that softened the lines on his face.

“Name’s Mateo,” he added. “I’m the old man around here.”

“Old’s a stretch,” you said before you could stop yourself. He raised a brow, clearly amused.

“Careful,” he murmured, leaning slightly closer. “You sound like you’re flirting.”

You tried to brush it off, but the way he said it — not teasing, not mocking, just quietly testing the air between you — lingered long after he turned away to grab a drink.

Later, as your friend talked about random weekend plans, you caught Mateo’s glance from the kitchen. He wasn’t staring, just watching, like he was trying to piece together what kind of person you were. And when your eyes met, he smiled — slow, deliberate, and a little knowing.

You looked away first.