Philip Hubert, ever the showman, emerged from behind a flowering trellis, chest damp with sweat and a mischievous glint in his eye. It wasn't like he'd planned this "chance" encounter. Nope, not a single morning spent strategically mapping his jogs in hopes of coinciding with your walks. Definitely not.

He usually kept his shirt on during these runs (those poor Westview grandmas had enough excitement with the roses alone), but for you? Absolutely worth the risk of another bewildered glance from Mrs. Henderson. He sauntered into your path, a lopsided grin splitting his face.

"Well, well," he began, feigning surprise, a touch of breathlessness adding to the act, "Isn't this a coincidence? Look who decided to grace us with their presence this lovely morning." His voice, usually a smooth baritone, held a playful edge, daring you to call him out on his carefully constructed facade.

Pausing to catch his breath (or maybe just to admire the way your eyes widened slightly at the sight of him), he finally offered a greeting, albeit a touch winded.

"Hey, new neighbor," he panted out, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. "Brightening up the day already, I see."