3. Neesha
NEESHA
I slide the last pennies into my hand and add them to my total tips for the day at the cafe. Even with my hourly wage and a huge tip from Mr. Forearms, I still am going to be tight on rent this month.
It’s going to take some sort of miracle to help me now—a winning lottery ticket, a viral TikTok about my cupcakes, or maybe I’ll wake up tomorrow and discover my mom’s medical debts magically paid themselves off.
The walk home is short but stunning, with crisp air, glowing porch lights, and pumpkins smiling from every stoop.
This is why I love Maple Falls. Because even when my personal life looks like a rejected Hallmark movie script, the town still feels magical. And maybe some of that magic brought the mystery handyman who left a tip that might actually save me this month.
It reminds me that somehow, things always come through—just like they did for my mom, even when the odds were stacked against her.
I still don’t know how she worked two jobs to keep us afloat after my father bailed on us, deciding that he wasn’t cut out for fatherhood or married life, or how she maintained faith that things would get better even when money was tight.
She held on to hope until the very end—even going into surgery, she was making plans for after her recovery, about finally taking that pottery class she’d always wanted to try.
When she suddenly passed away from complications three days later, I felt like an unmoored boat, spinning in shock at how quickly everything had changed.
One day we were laughing about her being able to eat real food again, the next day she was gone.
When I finally reach the outdoor stairs to my second-floor apartment, I sprint up quickly, hoping to avoid my landlady tonight. My dog, Henry, is waiting at the door, his bottom half wiggling furiously.
“Hey, buddy,” I sigh, ruffling his ears. He does a happy little circle dance around my feet. “Cupcake baking first. Walk second.”
I plop down on my ancient couch and open my laptop. It probably seems desperate to canvas the neighborhood with flyers at night like some sort of cupcake dealer, but I need orders this weekend or I’ll be choosing between bills or food. Again.
I find a cute template online, tweak it until it looks a little more professional, then start printing while I whip up another batch of cupcakes.
It’s all muscle memory at this point—thanks to the baking lessons Mom gave me, both of us covered in flour and eating the misshapen ones at the end.
After she died so suddenly, it became the only way I could still feel close to her.
Now I could probably frost a cupcake in my sleep—a skill I might need to develop at this rate.
Once the cupcakes are out of the oven and my flyers are printed, I grab Henry’s leash. “Okay, boy, ready for some covert advertising? ”
Under cover of darkness, Henry and I tuck flyers into mail slots.
It’s not until I reach the house next door that I notice something different: The lights are on, which is weird, because this place has been empty for weeks.
I’m halfway through sliding a flyer into the mail slot next to the door when someone walks past the window.
And it’s him . In flannel pajama pants. And no shirt.
I freeze like a deer caught in headlights—or more accurately, like a woman caught spying on her ridiculously attractive new neighbor.
Sweet mother of all that is good and caffeinated, when did handymen start looking like that ? He’s got the kind of chest that makes you understand why romance novel covers exist.
And I’m just standing here. Gawking. Like a creep.
He turns when the mail slot snaps shut, and our eyes meet through the window.
Oh, no.
I recoil so fast I trip over poor Henry, who yelps as I stumble backward and land on my butt in the middle of the porch like the graceful swan I am.
“Smooth, Neesha,” I mutter to myself. “Maybe tomorrow you can trip over your own feet for an encore.”
The door opens. He looks down at me with surprise. “Neesha? What are you doing sitting on my porch?”
Lucian is now mercifully wearing a shirt, looking down at me with concern and what might be a little amusement.
“Just enjoying the lovely view of your front door,” I say, wincing as I try to get up.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“Totally fine,” I lie, attempting to stand without looking like I’m an old woman. “I’ll probably have a bruise on my tailbone, but that’s what I get for tripping over Henry Cavill.”
He blinks. “The actor?”
“Not the Henry Cavill,” I say, then point to my dog, who’s now investigating Lucian’s porch because I dropped his leash when I fell. “ This Henry Cavill, named after my celebrity crush.”
“At least you have excellent taste in British men,” he says, his lips quirking a little. “Where’s he from?”
“Technically, the Maple Falls animal shelter, where they found him living his best dumpster-diving life behind The Glass Olive.”
“Ah.” Lucian nods and says in all seriousness, “Pasta’s always a solid choice for dumpster cuisine.”
I laugh despite my embarrassment. “You say that like you’ve tried it.”
“Well, maybe I have. You’ll have to stick around to find out.” He smiles and it makes me feel a little better—or at least temporarily distracts me from the throbbing pain on my backside.
He studies me for a moment. “I don’t have a proper first-aid kit, but I do have a few ice cubes. Stay right there.”
Before I can protest, he disappears inside. When he returns, he holds out a bag of ice.
“I figure you’ll want to apply this yourself?” he asks, handing it over.
I press it against my tailbone through my jeans, hissing at the cold. “Thanks. I’m not dying, just mildly humiliated. You know, just another weeknight in the life of Neesha Gilmore.”
“What were you doing out here anyway?” he asks, glancing at the scattered flyers all over his porch—another casualty of my fall. “Besides accidentally providing entertainment for the neighbors?”
Heat floods my face. “Delivering cupcake flyers to drum up business.”
He picks up one of my flyers and reads it. “Not enough business in the cafe?”
“I need some bigger orders or I’ll be eating ramen for the next month. And not the fancy kind—the twenty-five-cent packets that taste like the life of a poor college student.” I bend down to try to pick up a flyer.
“I’ll get those for you,” he says, gathering the rest of my scattered flyers. “Maybe you should be saving for a new espresso machine too.”
“I figure I’ll just call you the next time it breaks,” I say, then immediately want to take it back because that sounds way too presumptuous. “I mean—not that I expect—I just meant?—”
“No apology necessary,” he says, his smile gentle. “I don’t mind being your personal appliance-repair service in the meantime. You don’t have to fix everything yourself, you know.”
I cross my arms. “Says the man who literally fixed my espresso machine this morning without being asked.”
“Okay, fair point. That’s kind of my fatal flaw—seeing broken things and wanting to help.” His eyes meet mine. “And you definitely needed it.”
“Yeah, well, I would’ve figured something out. But thank you. I owe you.”
“You already paid me in cupcakes,” he says. “Best payment I’ve ever received.”
Just then, Henry’s head snaps up as Mrs. Nelson’s black-and-white cat struts into view.
“Henry, don’t you dare—” I start, but it’s too late.
My dog bolts after the cat, who tears across the street with Henry in hot pursuit. The last time Henry chased a cat, he was gone for two days. After losing Mom, he’s literally all I have left.
“Henry, NO!” I yell, limping after my dog.
“Stay here,” Lucian says, taking off after my dog with impressive speed.
He lets out a sharp whistle that somehow slows Henry mid-chase, then he does the most brilliant thing: he runs in the opposite direction.
Henry, thinking this is the best game ever, abandons the cat and chases Lucian instead.
When my dog finally catches up, Lucian kneels down and produces a stick of beef jerky from his pocket like some sort of dog whisperer .
It takes only thirty seconds to rescue Henry, but my heart is still hammering against my ribs when he brings the dog back to me.
“Apparently Henry’s weakness is jerky,” he says, handing me the leash.
“And apparently you just carry emergency dog treats around for fun?”
“Well, I was about to have a late-night snack when I caught someone peeking in my windows.” His smile appears, and I feel a flutter inside my chest.
“The window thing was purely accidental, due to my poorly timed neighborhood-advertising campaign.”
“I’ll accept that defense, especially since I had one of your cupcakes today and it was incredible. You’re really talented, Neesha.”
My mouth opens, but I don’t know what to say. It used to bug me when Nate called my baking a “cute hobby,” like I was having fun instead of building a business. But Lucian says it like he means it, like he sees something in me that I forget is there.
“Thanks,” I say, feeling my face heat slightly. “Baking is the one thing I know I’m good at.”
He studies my face for a moment like he almost wants to say something else, before kneeling to pet Henry.
“I met Mrs. Nelson, my new neighbor. She was pleasant enough, but I got the sense she notices everything. Hopefully, she knows I didn’t come here to make waves—just to fix up this place and keep to myself for a while. ”
I look away, suddenly feeling that awkward flip in my stomach.
The one thing he specifically doesn ’ t want is a neighbor who bothers him, and here I am—literally his next-door neighbor who’s stumbled upon him shirtless in his own home.
The last thing I want is for him to think I’m the clingy-neighbor type who can’t give him the space he clearly values.
“Where do you live?” he asks. “I could walk you home. I know Henry’s probably a great guard dog, but apparently his loyalty can be bought with salted meat products.”
I laugh, while my mind scrambles for a response. “This is Maple Falls, Lucian. The most dangerous thing here is Mrs. Nelson when she hasn’t had her morning coffee.” I hand him back his bag of ice. “Thank you for this and for rescuing my dog.”
“You sure you’re okay?” he asks, perusing me quickly to see if I’m still limping.
“Yep. Totally fine,” I say, even though my backside still feels tender. “Thanks for your help.”
I leave with what I hope is a casual wave and head down the street, walking past my upstairs apartment in Mrs. Nelson’s house so he has no idea I’m right next door.
When I look back, he’s already gone.
Yeah, no danger here. Except for what this man could do to my heart.