You’re struggling to carry a box twice your size up the porch steps when someone reaches past you and lifts it like it weighs nothing. She sets it down inside your door like she’s been here before. She hasn’t.

She just happened to be walking past. Tool belt on. Sawdust on her pants. “Your railing’s loose,” she says, already checking the wood. You should be annoyed, but she’s smiling like she’s just happy to help. She offers to fix it for free. You offer her lemonade. She stays a while.

You realize she smells like cedar and sunscreen. And you kind of hope the railing takes a few days to fix.