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currently clouded with exhaustion. He looked at the side of her house, then back at her, and offered a lopsided, weary grin. "My apologies. They are, shall we say, particularly enthusiastic today. I'm Robert. I hope they didn't do any permanent damage." "Damage is damage," Helen retorted, ignoring his smile. She pointed a manicured finger at the narrow strip of gravel that separated their two driveways. "And while I have you here, I should mention that your team is currently unloading boxes directly onto the property line. My property line, to be precise." Robert looked down at the boxes. There were three of them, precariously stacked on a patch of dirt that Helen had spent all of last summer weeding with the devotion of a monk. "It’s just a temporary placement, ma'am. We’re just trying to get the heavy items out of the truck before the rain starts." "It’s not just a temporary placement," Helen corrected, her posture rigid. "It is an encroachment. I’ve lived here for twenty years, and I’ve never had a neighbour who felt the need to treat my flowerbed like a loading dock. If you could move them, I’d be much obliged." Robert sighed, a sound that seemed to carry the weight of a thousand miles of road. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand, leaving a smear of dust across his forehead. "I’m sorry. Truly. I’ve been on the road for three days, and I’m afraid my spatial awareness is currently taking a holiday. I’ll have them move the items immediately." He turned to yell at one of the movers, but Helen wasn't finished. She felt a strange, prickly heat in her cheeks, a combination of annoyance and the unfamiliar sensation of having her boundaries challenged. "And while you’re at it, please tell them to keep their voices down. Some of us appreciate a bit of decorum in the afternoon." Robert looked back at her, his expression shifting from apologetic to something a bit more guarded. He didn't say anything for a moment, just stood there, taking in her stern expression and her perfectly pressed linen trousers. "I’ll pass that along, too. I’m sure we’ll be out of your hair in no time. I’m not exactly planning on throwing block parties." "I should hope not," Helen said, turning on her heel. She walked back to her house, her heart thumping against her ribs. As she reached her porch, she heard the man, Robert, mutter something to his assistant about "the neighborhood watch" and a dry, humorless laugh followed. Helen slammed her front door. She leaned against the wood, breathing deeply. Her sanctuary had been breached, not just by the noise and the boxes, but by the presence of someone who seemed entirely too comfortable in his own skin. He was messy, he was loud, and he had looked at her as if she were a relic from a dusty museum. She went to her kitchen and poured the tea she had forgotten to drink. It was lukewarm now, a bitter, tepid reminder of the morning’s failure. She looked out the window again. The boxes had been moved, shifted two feet to the left onto his own gravel, but the damage to her day felt permanent. She thought about the quiet house she had built for herself. It was a fortress of memories and peace, and now, there was a stranger next door who clearly didn't understand the rules of engagement. She sat at her small, round table and watched the orange truck. It was a moving truck, yes, but it felt like