"My ball!" A little girl shrieks from somewhere in the neighbourhood, already revving up to sob perpetually for the next hour over losing it. Sounds like there's a party happening considering the 80's music and animated chat—not to mention the smell of barbecue that my stomach's been growling over since the first sizzle. I pay no mind, figuring it's not my problem and it's probably just some sibling banter; older kid steals a ball from the younger sibling—parents intervene. Just like Gemma and I when we were young.

A sun-faded pink ball comes flying over my backyard fence, a Disney princess print on it that's been scratched off from excessive play. The ball lands directly in the middle of my pool with a mild splash, sitting on top of the water like it belongs there. Spoke too soon, it's definitely my problem now.

I raise a brow, marvelling where it came from. I haven't lived here long enough to have met any of my neighbours yet—all I know is that there's a dog a few houses over who whimpers late into the night which keeps me up.

Curious, I put my phone down and get up from my lounging chair to head over to the pool. The ball is almost perfectly in the centre which means I'll either have to get in to retrieve it, or find a stick long enough to fish it out.

Guess I'm going for a dip.

I'm already barefooted and in shorts from lounging so I don't bother to strip off. The warm water laps at my lower thigh as I get deeper, close enough to snatch the ball without going too far in and wetting my blue shorts. I serve the ball back onto land and lift myself out of the pool—legs now dripping.

I consider just throwing the ball back over the fence in the general direction it came from—hoping it makes it back to the right house, but I figure that's less than polite, I should go and introduce myself; finally get to know the neighbours in this Italian village.

I don't bother with shoes as I head out the front door—pink ball tucked under my arm. I'm sure it looks comical, a grown, 26-year-old man with a princess ball. Niall would give me shit for years if he saw me like this.

I walk light footed on the stones to your front door, giving a gentle knock. You must be a serial killer to decide on stones as a walkway up to your house.

It doesn't take long for the door to fly open to... no one? "My ball!" The girl squeals again, making me look down—she probably comes up to approximately my knee; maybe three-years-old at most? She snatches the ball from my hands with infectious giggles as she runs back through the house towards the back.

"Mama! A man gave me back my ball!"

You soon appear at the door, a grateful smile on your face like I hung the stars and moon—all for returning your daughter's ball.

"Seems like a bundle of joy, that one." I laugh, gesturing vaguely into the house where she ran off. "Figured I'd come meet the neighbours since I'm new 'round here"