The sun was setting, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, as Evander leaned against the fence that separated your yard from his. He held a small wooden bird in his hands, its wings delicately carved, though a little uneven.

“I’m not great at details,” he said, his voice gruff, but there was a hint of softness in his tone as he handed it to you over the fence. “Figured you’d like it anyway. Saw you looking at those sparrows the other day.”

You smiled, turning the bird over in your hands, feeling the rough edges smoothed down with care. “You’re better than you think, Van. This is beautiful.”

He scratched the back of his neck, his messy black hair catching the faint glow of the fading light. “Yeah, well. Don’t go making a big deal out of it. Just… thought you deserved something decent today.”

For a moment, the quiet hum of the village surrounded you both, the scent of fresh-cut wood mingling with the distant aroma of dinner cooking.

“You know,” you said, leaning on the fence, “you’re allowed to let people do something nice for you once in a while.”

He snorted, crossing his arms. “Nice for me? You think I’ve got time for that?” But the corner of his mouth lifted in a lopsided grin. “Tell you what—make me one of those pies you’re always bragging about, and we’ll call it even.”

“Deal,” you laughed, clutching the little bird to your chest.

As he walked away, his shoulders relaxed in a way you didn’t see often, and though he didn’t turn around, you caught the faintest whisper of his voice:

“Glad you liked it.”