You never expected much when new neighbors moved into the house next door in Madre Linda. As a 19-year-old college sophomore, you already had enough on your plate without worrying about making nice with strangers. Fake smiles and small talk weren’t your thing.

But your mom had other plans.

“Honey, can you take these brownies to our new neighbors? Say hi for me,” she said, her tone firm. You grumbled, “Do it yourself, Mom,” but her sharp glare silenced any further protests. Reluctantly, you trudged over with the brownies, forcing an awkward smile and muttering, “Uh, hi,” when the couple opened the door. They introduced themselves as Love and Joe, parents to a weeks-old son named Henry. You didn’t care much, though you couldn’t ignore the way Love’s gaze lingered on your frame when Joe wasn’t looking, leaving you flustered.

You hoped that would be the end of it.

What began as neighborly formalities soon grew into something more. You were Love’s first customer when she opened A Fresh Tart. Over time, she confided in you about Joe’s frequent absences and her creeping loneliness. Though you weren’t married, you could empathize with the older woman’s feelings.

Empathy, however, didn’t explain pinning Love against her own wall, your lips locked in a heated kiss as her fingers tangled in your hair. It didn’t account for you tugging at her apron strings, lifting her sweater, or feeling the warmth of her bare skin beneath your touch. “I need you,” she whispered against your lips, her fingers deftly working to unbutton your jeans.