Chapter Text
The hot, intoxicating Texas summer air blows some strands of your hair. God, you are missing the East Coast so much right now, but only now. A cropped top and shorts can't make it easier for you while watering your poor daisies. You let out a sigh and wipe away the drops of sweat from your forehead. The smell of grass and clean air filling your lungs. You lean against the rails of your front porch and look at the blue sky, drinking a glass of what used to be cold water.
It has been five months since your ex cheated on you, turning your life upside down. You had a perfect life in New York, or at least that's what you thought. At only 30, you were already teaching English Literature at a Long Island high school, living with a very handsome and successful man in a very expensive neighborhood. But then it all fell apart when you caught him fucking a girl on your own bed while you worked your ass off to pay the expensive rent. And it turns out, he was not that successful.
Given the circumstances, you decided to make a huge change: you applied to be a teacher in the English program at the University of Texas and, meanwhile, start your PhD. So two weeks ago you moved into this big house. You didn't need all this space, but the rent was very affordable, it was a nice neighborhood, and close to work.
"Daddy, please!" a girl's whining takes you out of your thoughts.
"No way, Sarah! You have a test today."
You turn your body to face both of your new neighbors exiting their front door. She is about 14, her dark curls up in a loose bun, her olive skin shining in the sun while she begs something from her father: a thirty-something-year-old man, dark short hair under a cap, a well-done beard and mustache, strongly built. Even though you are wearing sunglasses, your eyes don't stay on them for long—you don't want to be known as the gossiping neighbor.
"Morning, miss!" the girl greets you, a smile on her face.
"Morning, sweetheart!" you answer, stepping forward.
She walks closer as her father loads his truck, her body leaning so she can smell the flowers. The man stops and shakes his head watching her.
"I love your garden! It was so ugly before..." she smiles. "I'm Sarah, by the way."
"Thank you, Sarah! I'm..." you start to introduce yourself.
"Morning, neighbor!" her father shouts from his truck. "Sarah, let's go!" he calls her out.
"Fathers... why so annoying?!" she rolls her eyes. "He says I can't miss school to go to the public pool on this terribly hot day."
"Well, I think I'll have to agree with him. School is important." You see her lips curling at the corner of her mouth.
"C'mon, Sarah, I'll be late to work," the man shouts again, impatient.
"Nice meeting you!" she turns to leave.
"It was my pleasure. And hey, you can use my pool whenever you want, ok?!"
"Thank you!" she waves, and both of them leave in their car.
You pause the house organization to bake some cookies—this is your second week teaching, and it's good to try and win your students' hearts through their stomachs, like you always do. Baking and cooking are passions you've cultivated since you were a child. The afternoon sun fills your kitchen, reflecting on the white granite counter.
The radio blasts I Won't Back Down by Tom Petty, and you hum along, dancing in your kitchen while you mix your ingredients, your hips moving in sync with the addictive beat. You place them on the tray and put them in the oven.
The doorbell rings while you wash the dishes. You look at the clock—it's 4 p.m. You're not expecting anyone. You dry your hands on the towel and walk to the front door. When you open it, you find your neighbor, Sarah, smiling just like she did before.
"Hi, Sarah! Need something, sweetheart?" your eyebrows raise in surprise.
"Hi! Yes, I forgot my keys, and my dad is kind of at work, so I was wondering if I could borrow your phone for a few minutes."
"Sure, sweetie! Come in."
You let her in and walk her to your living room, bringing your cordless phone. She dials, and after a few beeps, her father picks up. You give them privacy, going to the kitchen to check your cookies, but you can still hear the conversation.
"Hi, Dad!" she says softly. "Yes, I'm at our new neighbor's..." she says your name "...house. I forgot the keys... Yes, Dad, again." She sighs heavily. "I'm sorry... I got distracted... Sure, you can talk to her." She gets up and brings the phone to you.
"What's your father's name, dear?" you whisper.
"Joel."
"Hi, Joel!" you say cheerfully.
"Hey! I'm so sorry about this, but can Sarah stay at your place until I come home, please?" His hoarse voice is calm. "I promise I'll be there by six. Really sorry for all this."
"Okay, Joel, no problem at all. She can stay here as long as she needs." You smile at her.
"Thank you so much..." your name comes out of his mouth like a prayer.
"No problem, Joel. See you soon!"
You end the call, and the girl has a smirk on her face, her eyes full of intentions and you have no idea what those are.
"You need something? If you need, you can use my living room table. I'll grab us a snack, ok?!"
"Thank you!"
Sarah settles at the living room's wooden table, and you head to the kitchen, grabbing some hot cookies, making sandwiches, and arranging homemade orange juice. When you get to the living room with the metal tray in your hands, you spot Sarah scavenging through your half-empty bookshelves. You place the tray on the table and walk toward her.
"You like to read?" she jumps, startled.
"You have so many books..." her eyes widen.
"I do!" you laugh, running your fingers along the spines. "I still have some books to organize," you point to three boxes.
"Oh, wow!" her eyes can barely fit her face.
"Yes!"
"Can I help you?"
"Sure! But let's eat now—you must be hungry." You place your hand on her shoulder and guide her to the table.
You two sit, and you slide the tray to the middle of the table, carefully not to get anything on her school things. Sarah grabs one cookie from the plate and takes a bite.
"Wow!" she chews. "These are the greatest cookies I've ever had in my entire life! They taste like heaven, rainbows, and unicorns."
"That's a hell of a compliment! Thank you, sweetheart!" you laugh.
"So, you do these often?" she takes another bite.
"No, every other day," you grin. "I've just started my job as an English teacher at the University of Texas. Sometimes I bring them to my students—it helps me get into their hearts, you know?"
"No way!" her jaw drops. "This has to be fate. I really need help with my English homework."
"Well... I guess destiny made you forget your keys."
"Absolutely, not my unbelievably terrible brain," she rolls her eyes.
"Don't say that! Let's put it on destiny's account," you laugh.
Sarah explains her homework to you: rewriting an Edgar Allan Poe short story. So, while you both indulge in cookies and sandwiches, you help her out. You're impressed with how good she is with word, just like you. Very polite and creative.
After finishing the draft, Sarah helps you put some of the books on the shelf, and that's when you see it: your autographed copy of To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee. It was your favorite book when you were her age, the school made you read it, and you're glad they did. It taught you a lot, and you can see Sarah liking it too.
"Here, take it." You reach it to Sarah. "It would mean the world to me if you liked it as much as I did when I was your age."
"No way!" she opens it and sees the autograph. "No fucking way! Oh, I'm sorry for the swearing, but this is so awesome." She hugs you, and it brings a warmth to your heart in a way you haven't felt in a long time.
"Glad you like it, sweetheart."
It is 6:30 p.m. when you decide to end for the day—Joel hasn't arrived yet.
"Sarah, what do you say to staying for dinner?" you ask her with a grin. "I'm alone, and I have a frozen lasagna I made last week for occasions like this, and I really enjoyed your company."
"Yes, absolutely! If you were the one who made it, I'm all for it." She gets up. "And my father is late, per usual. Can I help you?"
"Sure, sweetheart."
You two go to the kitchen. You give her some vegetables to cut while you finish up the lasagna. Sarah is really fun—you two like Beyoncé, so you put the CD on your stereo, dancing and singing while cooking.
"So, how old are you?" she side-eyes you.
"I'm 30. And you?" you raise your hand. "Let me guess... something along the lines of 15?" you smile.
"How..." her jaw drops. "You must be a witch."
"I am..."
"That's why I liked you—you put a spell on the cookies," she pretends to be shocked.
"That's exactly what I've done! I do that to my students as well." You both laugh.
You put both the lasagna and vegetables in the oven, and you two sit at the kitchen table. You thank yourself for making a big lasagna—you figure her father might also be starving when he gets home.
"Can I ask you more questions?" Sarah leans back against the chair.
"Shoot!"
"What time does your husband get home?" one of her eyebrows raises.
"Wow, that was direct!" you widen your eyes. "I'm not married."
"Boyfriend?"
"No."
"Lesbian?"
"What is this? Are you assigning me to some dating show?" you laugh. "I'm not a lesbian, I just got out of a relationship."
"Uhm, complicated breakup?" she half-shuts her eyes.
"Yes."
"Okay, won't get therapist on you." she smirks. "Awesome! Not the breakup, of course. And where are you from?"
"New York. And you guys are from here?"
"Wow, so nice. I've always wanted to visit NYC, but all my dad does is work! And yes, we're from here."
You see so much of yourself in Sarah, she seems to be a very determined young woman, funny, and even though she pretends not to understand her homework, she's really good at it. The oven rings, and you place the lasagna and vegetables on the table. Sarah sets the plates and cutlery. And just as you start to eat, the doorbell rings.
You get up and go to the door, opening it to find your neighbor. Even though he looks exhausted, he's so handsome. You've only seen him from afar, never this close. His dark eyes, hair, and beard... Your heart skips a few beats, and you feel the air getting stuck in your lungs. He must be a little older than you—not much. You swallow hard and smile; he returns it.
"Good night, neighbor!" he finally breaks the silence.
"Oh, I'm so sorry!" you sigh. "Good night! Come on in, we're about to have dinner."
"Shit!" he swears, and you widen your eyes. "I'm sorry about that, I just... I'm really sorry to bother you this much." His hand goes to his forehead, and he closes his eyes. "I got delayed with a delivery."
"Hey, Joel, that's totally okay..." your smile is soft and comforting. "Sarah is such amazing company. Come on, please—you must be starving."
You open the door wider so he can come in, pointing to the dining room. He enters, shoulders slightly hunched, as if he wanted to shrink and disappear. Sarah smirks at him.
"Hi, Dad!" she says excitedly. "I had so much fun today! She's the best!"
"Hey, babygirl." He kisses her forehead, and it makes your knees soften. "That's so nice. I'm so sorry for running late on you, baby."
"No problem at all, Dad. I actually loved being here."
He waits for you to sit first, but you go grab a plate for him, and then both of you sit together. You serve him a generous piece of your lasagna.
"I loved your company, sweetheart. You can come by any time you want." You give her a nurturing smile.
"Dad, she's a teacher, she helped me with my homework."
"Oh, that's so nice, baby." his voice is low, still shy. "A teacher, huh?"
"Yes..." you smile. "And Sarah did it mostly by herself, she's being humble. She's really great with words. Maybe she'll be my student soon."
"Maybe, if you bring me cookies."
Joel watches you two, like you've known each other your whole lives. He can't help but smile.
"I promise I will, but you'll have to work hard for the As."
"She's the smartest," Joel says proudly.
"She is."
"Aw, guys, you're making me blush and boosting my self-esteem. Continue, please."
"Let me help you with that. I have to make it up to you." Joel says, getting up and taking out the dishes.
"No need!"
"I beg you." His puppy eyes convince you.
"Okay then, you can help me."
You dry the dishes as he washes them, his muscles moving with the sponge. He is a nice man, quiet, but really nice. When you are about to put the glasses in place, he hears the cabinet squeaking and looks over.
"Well, I can fix that for you."
"Sure! Good ears..."
"Hey, I'm sorry again..." Joel looks around the house. "I can go back to fix the cabinet for you, and anything else you need. People around me call me if they need anything, you can do that too, ok?!"
"Thank you, Joel, that's nice of you. I don't know or have anyone around here, so it's kind of a challenge. If you have time, you can come by tomorrow to fix my cabinet."
"I can only imagine."
"Here, you two, take a few cookies. I'll bake more tomorrow."
"Careful, Dad, she can put a spell on you, she's a witch." Sarah giggles. "She did it on me, that's why I like her so much."
"I hope they're worth it."
As soon as your neighbors leave your house, you are confronted again with that emptiness you feel every single night, when all you hear is the wooden floor cracking and the insects on the street. Your empty bed awaits you, and that brings a strange relief.
The next morning, the Texas sun greets you early, bold and unbothered, slipping through the thin curtains and spreading golden light across your bedroom floor. You stretch under the sheets, still feeling the faint exhaustion of the past weeks, but there's something soft about waking up here. Maybe it's the silence—no car horns, no subway rumble beneath your feet, no chatter of early risers rushing through the streets like in New York. Just birds, cicadas, and the slow hum of the heat already rising.
You dress lightly: linen trousers, a thin blouse, and tie your hair up, knowing the humidity will win any battle you start. As you step outside, the air already smells like grass and warm asphalt. Your car door burns your fingers for a second. You laugh quietly to yourself, remembering how in New York you barely touched a steering wheel. There, your world fit inside a subway car, the clatter, the mix of perfume and coffee, the hum of a city that never really gave you space to breathe. Here, everything stretches wide and slow. You're still learning to fill that space.
The campus of the University of Texas feels alive even early in the morning. The buildings are sun-kissed, the bricks glowing under the light, framed by sprawling oaks. Students sit on the lawn, some barefoot, laptops open; others sipping iced coffee that's melting too fast. It's different from the East Coast universities: less formal, more alive, like everyone here has learned how to blend hard work with sunlight.
You park and grab your tote bag, adjusting your sunglasses. A few students greet you as you walk toward the English building. You still feel like the new face on campus: too-polished smiles, curious eyes. They don't know your story yet, and maybe that's what you like the most. Here, you get to start over.
Your first class begins at nine. The lecture hall isn't as polished as the one in Long Island, but the windows are open, and the breeze carries that distinct smell of sun-warmed paper and fresh coffee. You look over your notes, take a deep breath, and smile at the first group of students walking in.
There's freedom here. Maybe it's the southern air, or maybe it's the way everyone says "ma'am" with genuine warmth, not irony. You find yourself smiling more than you expected.
When class ends, you linger for a while, collecting your papers slowly. A few students come up to you, curious, eager. One girl even reminds you of Sarah, her questions quick and clever, her smile too bright for early morning. You can't help but think of your young neighbor and how easily she filled your kitchen yesterday. You wonder if she's at school now, maybe complaining about homework or laughing with her friends.
As you leave the building, the sun hits your face again, relentless, honest, and warm. You squint at the blue sky and realize how different this all feels. In New York, everything was always taller, louder, faster. Here, the days stretch wider, giving you time to think. Maybe too much time, which, given the circumstances, is not that great.
But for now, it's enough. You're teaching again. You're breathing again.
Just a few more books and you finish your living room. You stop to catch your breath and drink some water, and that is when your doorbell rings. You forgot Joel was coming over to fix your cabinet, and you look terrible, old shorts and shirt, and your hair stuck to all the places with your sweat.
"Just a second!" you scream, running to the big mirror in your washroom to fix yourself, and then come back running. "Hi!" you say breathless as you open the door for your neighbor.
"Hi, neighbor!" he smiles.
Joel looks amazing. His hair is messy, he wears a black shirt, muscles showing, the soft smile that makes you want to die is there. He holds his toolbox.
"Come on in, I'm sorry about the mess. I forgot you were coming." You make space for him.
"No problem at all." He enters your house, and you lead him to the kitchen.
As Joel focuses on the small cabinet door, you go make some coffee for both of you. You can't help but think that your useless ex wouldn't do this even when you were together, and that this man, who met you yesterday, is here doing it for you. You glance over at him a few times, noticing his eyes on you too. The way he moves makes your hands sweaty and your heart race. He looks good fixing things, especially your things. You go back to the coffee. "C'mon, girl, he is your neighbor."
"Done!" he gets up.
"Thank you, Joel!" you smile. "Made you some coffee. Sit for a bit."
"I don't know..."
"Please!" you say, and he nods.
"Thank you for helping, Sarah."
He takes a sip of your coffee and grabs one cookie from yesterday. "She loved you... which is pretty good. She is not used to trusting someone at first sight."
"I guess I really put a spell on her." You laugh, drinking your coffee.
"I don't know if I want to understand this..." he giggles.
"Your daughter is a great girl, Joel... know that."
"I try my best."
"Mother is not around?" You regret it the moment it comes out of your mouth. "I am sorry, I don't want to be nosy."
"No, she is not around." He looks at his cup of coffee.
"You are doing a great job then, Joel." You reach for his hand. "I understand. Sarah is so much like me." You sigh.
"So I can be happy that she will be successful."
"Well, I bet on her."
"Beautiful photo over there, NY, hum?" Joel points at the big frame leaning against the living room wall where you are supposed to hang it. "And what brings you to Texas? Sarah told me you are from New York; that is all she talks about, a dream of hers." His eyes are locked on yours.
"Well, difficult things. I ended an engagement, really badly. And I decided to come and get my PhD, and lecture. Something I've always wanted to do. Fresh air, fresh start, I guess that is all I need."
"I am sorry about the engagement." he sighs "Want me to hang that for you?" his selflessness makes a spark run through your body. He sees things that most men don't.
"Sure! I would've done it later, but well, I could use some strong arms..." God-fucking-damn it, woman, shut the fuck up, you giggle to try and brush it off, but your red cheeks give you away.
After you are finished with the talk, Joel gets up and helps you with the metal stair. He looks over at your books and smiles. His arms are firm as he hammers the nail on the wall and lifts the frame effortlessly.
"It is beautiful, you know?" he gets down, standing a little too close to you, his cologne filling your lungs and making your heart race.
"I took the photo. I was at the Empire State, a young adult full of art in her veins." He looks at you deeply, both sharing something.
"You are talented. Maybe someday I can see this landscape with my own eyes." He sighs. "Well, thank you for the coffee and for the talk, neighbor. But I have to go, my brother needs me at a construction site." These words hurt you, wishing he could stay longer and talk. You've been so alone, and he and his daughter have been such great company.
"Let me know if you or Sarah need anything." You walk him to the door.
"You too. This is my number." He gives you a card. "Send me a text so I can have yours."
"Sure!" You blush. "Thank you again, and tell Sarah I sent her a kiss."
Your urge to hug him almost wins, but you control yourself. Joel doesn't seem like a hug type of guy, so you just let your hand pat his shoulder and watch as he leaves, walking slowly to his house. When you go back inside, his scent is still lingering, making you feel some kind of comfort. The house is silent again, just you and your thoughts.