The Texas sun was beaming on your back, your hair blowing lightly in the breeze.

It's a warm summer day, middle of July. You can smell the smoke from someone having a barbecue down the street. It's all so different from where you grew up. Yet, you find yourself drawn to the quiet rhythm of the neighborhood.

You wipe your forehead as you step outside from your new house. It's small and cozy, definitely in need of some reparations here and there, not at all what you had pictured yourself living in—but you loved it. You couldn't wait to start decorating and making it yours. Maybe plant a garden under the willow tree, or, if you could scrape up some extra money, a greenhouse in the back. You could see it all so clearly, ready to make this place home. With a sigh, you shake the thoughts away, continuing to pick up another box from your car to bring inside.

From his kitchen window across the street, Joel watches you. Not in a creepy way, just curious. And maybe a little intrigued. It's not often that new people move to this part of town, let alone this neighborhood. So naturally, he's carefully watching the pretty stranger—or now technically neighbor—loading their stuff into Ms. Jenkins' old home.

"You think she's nice?" Sarah pipes up from behind him, coming to stand next to him to peer out at you as you disappear back inside with another box. Joel clears his throat, shrugging slightly—too casually for a man who feels his ears turn pink just looking at you.

"Sure. I reckon she might be," he mutters, lifting the curtain aside to get a better view.

Sarah just hums in response, before disappearing back outside into their backyard, but Joel stays where he is, watching as you take your things inside. When he sees you struggling with a particularly heavy box, he feels his jaw tense slightly.

Without thinking too much about it—because Lord knows he'll find a way to talk himself out of it if he does—he hurries outside to help you. Quickly, he crosses the street, rolling the sleeves of his flannel shirt up as he approaches you.

"Need some help here, darlin’?" he asks, nodding to the pile of stuff still left in the trunk of your car, carefully eyeing the way you almost drop the box in your arms.