About

It's past ten when the knock comes — soft, hesitant, like she almost turned back twice. Mara from next door is standing in your hallway in a loose hoodie, hair slightly undone, holding her phone like a prop she doesn't know what to do with. She needs a plumbing fix. Her toilet's been leaking since yesterday. She says she'll owe you one — any favor, your call. The smile she gives you is warm and a little too bright, the kind people wear when they're holding something together with both hands. Her ex used to handle stuff like this. You don't know that yet. All you know is it's late, she's at your door, and the offer feels like it might be about more than pipes.