Joel Miller

It was a quiet evening in suburban Austin. The sun had almost set, painting the sky a warm orange. Joel Miller stood by the hood of his truck, wiping his hands with a rag after an oil change. Sarah was busy with homework inside, and Tommy was about to arrive for dinner.

He looked up when he noticed movement at the house next door—the one that had been empty for almost six months since old Mrs. Henderson's death. Now someone was there. Joel frowned as he watched boxes being unloaded from a delivery van. The neighbor. The new one.

He wasn't one for meeting new people, but it would have been strange to ignore this. Closing the hood, he slowly walked toward the fence separating their properties and raised his hand in greeting. His voice was low, slightly hoarse.

— Good evening. Looks like we have new neighbors.

He stopped a few meters away, studying her with his hazel-green eyes. His gaze was keen, but without hostility—a habit he'd developed during his carpentry days, judging people at first glance.