3. Julian
JULIAN
Pulling into the driveway, I grab the lone grocery bag from the passenger seat and make my way inside.
The house is still pretty bare, but I drop the groceries on the table and let out a sigh that seems to echo through the empty, open spaces.
It's impossible to ignore the flutter of excitement—and anxiety—that stirs in my chest. How did I let this happen so fast? I’m getting entirely too close to my neighbor.
What was supposed to be a fresh start in Lawson Ridge seems to be unraveling into a tangled mess of attraction and distraction.
I need to get my life back on track, find some stability, not be thrown off course like this.
The first day in this town, and already I'm sidetracked by a smile and a voice.
How could I have known my neighbor was going to be unbelievably gorgeous when I signed that lease?
Yet here I am, barely moved in and already daydreaming.
I put the groceries away, trying to focus on a simple task rather than the thoughts of my neighbor, Ellie.
My phone buzzes with a text from my sister: How's the new place? Meet anyone interesting yet?
I stare at the screen, my thumbs hovering uncertainly. If only she knew. What would I even say? “Oh, you know, just potentially ruining my fresh start by developing feelings for someone I barely know?”
Instead, I type: Place is good. Still unpacking. Nothing interesting yet.
The lie sits uncomfortably as I hit send. I toss the phone onto the counter and walk to the window, peering through the blinds toward the neighboring house. No movement. Part of me is relieved, another part disappointed.
This was supposed to be about finding myself again after everything fell apart back home.
New town, new job, new perspective. The plan was simple: establish a routine, focus on work, maybe join a book club or something equally harmless.
Nowhere in that plan was there room for getting butterflies over a neighbor I just met.
I let the blinds snap shut and press my forehead against the cool window glass. Maybe I'm overreacting. Maybe this is just the excitement of something new, the novelty of connection in an unfamiliar place. It'll fade. It has to.
The sound of a car door slamming outside makes me jump. I peek through the blinds again, my heart racing embarrassingly fast, but it's just someone delivering a package next door. I watch as they leave it on the porch and drive away.
“Get it together,” I mutter to myself, turning away from the window.
I need to settle in, to remember why I came here. Lawson Ridge is my chance to rebuild, not to complicate my life with a distraction—even one with eyes that seem to see right through me.
My phone buzzes again. It's my sister.
“Nothing interesting? Really? That's not what social media tells me. Ellie Harper just posted about meeting her new neighbor. Hashtag welcome to the neighborhood. Hashtag new friends.”
My stomach drops. Of course my sister would know Ellie—everyone seems to know everyone.
“How do you even know Ellie?”
She laughs. “Went to college with her cousin. Small world. She's single, btw. Just saying.”
Heat rises to my face. “It's not like that.”
“Sure, sure. Call me tomorrow, then.”
I toss my phone onto the couch and run a hand through my hair. Great. Not even twenty-four hours in town and already there's gossip. That's exactly what I was trying to escape.
The doorbell rings, startling me out of my thoughts. For a moment, I consider pretending I'm not home, but curiosity gets the better of me. I open the door to find Ellie standing there, holding the package that had been delivered to her porch.
“Hey,” she says, a slight smile playing at her lips. “This has your name on it. Must have been left at the wrong house.”
She's wearing a simple t-shirt and jeans, her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, and somehow she looks even more beautiful than earlier today. I realize I've been staring without speaking.
“Thanks,” I manage, taking the package. Our fingers brush, and I try to ignore the jolt that runs through me. “I appreciate you bringing it over.”
“No problem.” She lingers for a moment. “How's the unpacking going?”
I set the package down. “Well, I was done until this came.”
Ellie glances past me into the house. “Need any help? I'm pretty good at organizing.”
Every instinct tells me to politely decline, to maintain distance, to stick to my plan. But what comes out of my mouth is entirely different.
“Actually,” I hear myself say, “I could use the help.”
As she steps inside, I can't help but wonder if Lawson Ridge is going to be the fresh start I planned—or something else entirely.
“I don’t have much yet. Didn’t bring much with me from Houston. Starting fresh.” I didn’t plan on having company so soon - especially not her.
Ellie steps inside, glancing around with interest instead of judgement. “When I moved into the house, it took me three weeks to find my coffee maker.”
The easy way she laughs makes something loosen in my chest. I close the door behind her, trying to ignore how different the house feels with her presence.
I only have this one big box - which honestly I’m surprised she brought it over. It’s like sixty pounds. “It’s mostly kitchen stuff.”
So I take the box into the kitchen and we both unpack and arrange everything in their respective places. She tells me about the town - which places are worth trying and which to avoid.
“How long have you lived here?”
“Born and raised, except for college.” She arranges glasses on a shelf. “Left for a few years.”
“What brought you back?”
Her movements pause. “Family stuff. My dad got sick. He’s better now, but by the time he recovered, I remembered the things I love about this town.”
I nod, recognizing something in her voice—the pull of home, even when you've convinced yourself you've outgrown it.
“What about you?” she asks. “What brings you to Lawson Ridge?”
The question I've been dreading. I focus intently on unwrapping another plate. “Just needed a change.”
It's not a lie, but it's not the whole truth either.
“So, you’re running from something? Not judging. We’ve all got our stuff.”
How is she able to read me like that? “That obvious, huh?”
“Kind of.”
I could deflect, change the subject, maintain the walls I came here to build. Instead, I find myself wanting to tell her the truth, but I don’t.
“Houston started to feel…”
“Suffocating?” she offers.
“Exactly.” I’m surprised how easily she understands.
“Fresh start.”
“That was the plan.” I pause, then add, “Until I met my distractingly attractive neighbor.”
The words are out before I can stop them. Ellie's eyebrows rise slightly, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
“Distractingly attractive, huh?”
My face gets hot, but I can’t look away from her. “I said that out loud, didn’t I?”
“You did.” She leans against the counter, studying me. “For what it’s worth, I find my new neighbor pretty distracting too.”
We're standing in my half-empty kitchen, surrounded by bubble wrap and cardboard, yet somehow this feels more intimate than it should.
“I didn’t come here looking for…” I trail off.
“Complications?”
“Exactly.”
She nods, and laughs. “Life has a way of not caring about our plans, but let me ask you this. Was your plan to move here and become a hermit?”
“Something like that. Focus on work and avoid distractions.”
Ellie laughs, a sound that seems to brighten the kitchen. “Well, that's one approach. Sounds lonely, though.”
I shrug, trying to appear nonchalant. “Lonely is safe. Lonely doesn't hurt.”
Her expression softens, and I realize I've revealed more than I intended. She doesn't push, though, just hands me a coffee mug to unwrap.
"You know," she says after a moment, "there's a middle ground between hermit and... whatever you're running from."
“Is there?” I ask, genuinely curious about her perspective.
“Sure. You can build a life here without closing yourself off completely.” She places the last plate in the cabinet. “Lawson Ridge has a way of healing people, if you let it.”
I consider her words, turning them over like smooth stones in my mind. “And where do distractingly attractive neighbors fit into this healing process?”
She grins. “As excellent tour guides, for starters. Maybe friends, if you're open to it.”
Friends. The word should be a relief—a clear boundary, a safe distance. Instead, it feels both too much and not enough.
“I could use a friend,” I admit, surprising myself with the honesty. “But it’s getting late.”
She walks to the door and opens it. “See you around, friend.”
After she leaves, I lean against the closed door. This wasn’t the plan. None of this was the plan.