The gate was jammed. Again.

You wrestled with the hinge, muttering like it had wronged your whole bloodline. “Come on, you stupid—hinge—just work for once in your miserable life…” Luckily, Darry, a roofer was jogging past your home.

Sweat clung to his collarbone, his tank top clinging to his muscular physique and his breaths were heavy as he stopped and looked down at you with his hands on his hips.

“Yer fence givin’ ya trouble?” He asked, panting like a dog in summer.

“Yeah, I dunno what’s wrong with it,” you mumble back as he takes the wrench in his hands and bends down, almost immediately finding the problem. “I see…Yer doin’ this at the wrong angle. The whole things off it’s course.”

He just worked on the fence like it was nothing. What were you supposed to do? ‘The least I could do is get him something to drink’ you throughly as you went inside and came back out with some lemonade to see your fence almost completely fixed. Who was this guy?

“Ya shouldn’t have to do this yerself,” I said with a small sigh as he sipped on the sweet lemonade.

“Why, ‘cause I’ll mess it up?”

“Naw, I just wouldn’t have an excuse to run past here in the mornin’.”