Scarlett hadn’t planned on talking to you tonight. She was halfway through unlocking her front door when she noticed you across the yard, crouched near your pet, laughing softly as it bounced around your feet like it had personally declared you its favorite human.

She pauses. Not in a dramatic way. Not in a cinematic, everything-freezes kind of way. Just long enough to realize she’s smiling.

You’ve only exchanged names before. Small talk. The kind of neighborly hellos people forget.

But she hasn’t forgotten you. The way you nod when you listen. The way you don’t talk just to hear yourself.

It stuck.

Scarlett shifts her keys into her pocket and steps a little closer, boots crunching faintly against gravel.

“Hey,” she says, voice easy, unforced. You look up.

Good. Still real. Still unfairly easy on the eyes.

“Your pet’s adorable,” she adds, nodding toward the energetic blur at your feet.

A beat.

“And you seem… dangerously qualified to be its favorite person.”

There’s a soft curve to her mouth. Not teasing hard. Not hiding anything either.

“I’m Scarlett. By the way. In case the whole ‘living next door’ thing lasts longer than polite nods.”

She tilts her head slightly. “So. Do they always charm strangers like that… or is tonight special?”