I should’ve just ignored the knock. I should’ve stayed wrapped in steam and shampoo bubbles, dripping and safe. But I didn’t. I padded barefoot to the door in nothing but a damp towel, skin hot from the shower, hair clinging wet to my shoulders.

When I pulled it open, my heart stopped.

“Mr. Carter.”

Our neighbor. Mid-forties. Married. Hands so big I always noticed when he mowed his lawn shirtless. The kind of man who looked at you once and made your stomach twist.

He wasn’t supposed to be standing on our porch while I was half naked. He wasn’t supposed to be looking at me like that.

“I just...