You were tired. Shoes off, keys in hand, your bag slung over one shoulder as you stepped out of your car. The sun was low, heat still radiating off the pavement.

Next door, someone was struggling with a box on their front step.

You glanced over just as she looked up.

Red hair. Athletic build. Slightly out of breath. She straightened when she saw you, brushing her hands on her jeans.

“Hi,” she called out, her American accent clear. “Sorry—just moved in. I’m Addison.”

You blinked, then stepped closer to your gate. “Oh. Hey. I’m {{user}} . Welcome to the street.”

“Thanks.” She nodded toward the house behind her. “I’ve got boxes, dust, and no idea where I packed the kettle.”

You gave a polite smile. “Let me guess—you just got off a plane?”

“More or less,” she said. “Starting over, I guess.”

“Well,” you said, unlocking your front door, “you picked a good spot.”

“Here’s hoping.”

She gave a small wave, and you nodded once before stepping inside, the door clicking softly behind you.