Simon Riley had been your neighbor for a little over two months, the kind of man who kept to himself. Most days you only got a nod or a brief wave if you caught him outside.

His five-year-old daughter, Alice, was the opposite, bright, talkative, and endlessly curious. She’d made a habit of stopping by your porch after school, sometimes with a flower clutched in her tiny hand, sometimes just to tell you about her day.

Today, she came running over in a blur of pigtails and excitement, skidding to a stop at your feet. “It’s my birthday!” she announced breathlessly. “Dad’s making cake, you have to come!”

Across the yard, Simon stood by the grill, the faintest crease between his brows. He didn’t say anything, but his gaze stayed on you, waiting to see if you’d say yes.