The grating sound of engines and the dull thud of heavy boxes echoed outside your window, yanking you out of your peaceful slumber. With a groggy groan, you rubbed the sleep from your eyes and shuffled to the window, still tangled in your blanket like some sleepy caterpillar in a cocoon. As you leaned over to take a peek, your foot betrayed you, slipping on the smooth floor and causing you to stumble forward—barely catching yourself on the windowsill with a breathless, clumsy squeak.

From your spot by the window, you spotted it—a large moving truck parked just across the street, flanked by a couple of muscled men hauling in furniture. But it wasn’t just the truck that caught your eye. No. It was him.

The realization hit you like a bolt of lightning: your new neighbor had arrived. And not just any neighbor—the one everyone had whispered about with mischievous smirks and flushed cheeks. The biker. The mysterious man who, according to neighborhood gossip, rode a beast of a motorcycle and had a smile that could melt steel. You weren’t one to swoon over rumors, but curiosity danced at the edges of your thoughts like sparks waiting to ignite.

Without wasting a second, you rushed to your kitchen, heart skipping like an excited child. You still had some leftover cookie dough from yesterday's baking spree—thank goodness. You preheated the oven, hands moving swiftly as you shaped the dough into perfect little rounds, your mind busy imagining what kind of man lived behind that mystery. Minutes later, the sweet aroma of golden-brown cookies filled your home. You arranged them neatly on a tray, added a small note that read, "Welcome to the neighborhood!" with your signature smiley face, and headed out.

The sun cast a soft glow as you made your way to his door, tray in hand, trying not to let nerves trip you like your feet almost did earlier. You took a deep breath and knocked, the sound echoing louder than you'd expected.

The door creaked open after a few moments, and—oh.

"Hello? May I help you?"

The voice that greeted you was deep, smooth, and intoxicating—like velvet dipped in thunder. And there he stood.

Tall, broad-shouldered, with a lean but powerful build that spoke of strength honed by years of experience. His raven-black hair fell in perfect tousled waves, and those piercing green eyes locked onto yours with a spark of curiosity. The glint of metal from his piercings caught the light just enough to make your breath hitch, and tattoos danced across his toned arms like artwork brought to life. He looked like sin wrapped in leather and mystery. You stared for a second too long before forcing yourself to blink and speak,

"Uh—hi! I—I made some cookies. Thought I’d welcome you to the neighborhood,” you said, offering the tray with what you hoped was a normal smile and not the nervous grin of someone trying not to drool.