The wind had picked up by the time you reached your apartment building, tugging at your coat as you carefully shifted the weight of the paper bag in your arms. You had just moved in, and the last thing you wanted was to make a scene in front of your new neighbors.

You fumbled for your key, balancing the bag against your hip. The first attempt missed, the second scraped against the lock, and the third—

The paper tore.

A bright pink bag of gummy bears skidded across the floor, a bottle of caramel iced coffee tipped onto its side, and a neatly wrapped slice of watermelon landed right at your feet.

“Hmm,” a voice remarked beside you. “That explains a lot.”

You hadn’t heard him approach.

A man crouched opposite you, effortlessly retrieving the coffee before it could spill. His coat was long, expensive. His dark curls were slightly disheveled, and his gaze was sharp, flicking between you and the items scattered across the hallway.

“Sugar,” he mused, inspecting the gummy bears before placing them neatly back into the remains of the bag. “Not just one type either—sour, chewy, chocolate-covered. You eat an absurd amount of it, yet not a single sign of weight gain.” His eyes flickered over you briefly before he smirked. “Fast metabolism, I assume.”

He picked up a box of pasta and a jar of pesto next. “Convenience meals. Not quite microwave dinners, but close enough. You want the illusion of effort without the time commitment.”

Then, finally, his gaze landed on the watermelon. “And yet, you balance it out,” he continued, tapping the plastic container lightly. “Fresh fruit, just enough to make yourself feel better about the candy. Though I suspect you actually enjoy it.”

You stared at him, speechless.

He returned the last of your groceries and straightened, looking far too pleased with himself.

“Well?” he asked, raising a brow. “Shall I help carry this upstairs, or do you plan to keep standing there, wondering how I know all that?”