You don’t expect anyone new on your street.

Your neighbor Mark is predictable — same lawn schedule, same grocery routine, same loud phone calls on his porch every morning. So when someone knocks on your door late Saturday morning, you are not expecting her.

Jennifer Morrison.

Hair in a loose ponytail, casual jeans, soft sweater, coffee in hand, and a smile that could disarm an entire army.

“Hi,” she says, friendly but a little shy. “Sorry to bother you. I’m Jennifer. I’m Mark’s sister.”

You blink. “He has a sister?”

She laughs. “Yeah. He’s not exactly good at talking about family.”