**Part 2**

For a second nobody moved.

Jenna stood on the porch steps with the sunflowers in her hand, her mouth still slightly open. I stood there holding the peach cobbler like an idiot. Behind me, Hank leaned against the doorframe with the most satisfied expression I had ever seen on his face.

“Well,” he said. “Don’t just stand there letting the mosquitoes in. Both of you. Inside.”

Jenna recovered first. She climbed the last step, kissed Hank on the cheek, and handed him the flowers. “These are for you. And for June’s roses, if you want them outside.”

Then she looked at me again. A small, disbelieving smile started at the corner of her mouth.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi.”

Hank took the cobbler out of my hands and disappeared toward the kitchen, muttering something that sounded like “About damn time.” Sarge followed him, tail high.

Jenna and I were left on the porch. The evening air smelled like cut grᴀss and the roses along the fence we’d just rebuilt. She tucked a curl behind her ear and glanced down at her sundress, then back at me.

“So,” she said. “You’re the neighbor.”

“And you’re the granddaughter.”

“Apparently.” She laughed once, soft. “Grandpa’s been talking about ‘that nice young man next door’ for months. He never mentioned you were the trumpet guy who hums Sousa at seven in the morning.”

I rubbed the back of my neck. “He never mentioned his granddaughter was the one drawing tubas on my coffee cups.”

“Would you have come if he had?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Probably would have stood on my own porch for twenty minutes trying to talk myself into it.”

Her smile widened. “That tracks.”

From inside, Hank called, “Supper’s not going to eat itself!”

We went in. The house smelled like pot roast and the peach cobbler already warming in the oven. Hank had set the table with the good plates—the ones with the little blue flowers that I knew June had picked out. He waved us toward our seats like this was the most ordinary evening in the world.

“Jenna,” he said as he poured sweet tea, “Sam here spent all day yesterday fixing the fence that truck took out. Didn’t even complain when I made him redo two of the posts.”

“You said they weren’t square,” I pointed out.

“They weren’t.”

Jenna looked at me over her glᴀss. “You fixed Grandpa’s fence?”

“He supervised.”

“From a lawn chair,” Hank added. “With Sarge. Very important work.”

She shook her head, still smiling, and for a minute the three of us just ate. Hank told a story about a drill instructor who’d once made his entire platoon alphabetize their socks. Jenna asked me what the high school band was working on this semester. I told her about the Sousa march she’d heard me humming and the freshman trumpet player who still got nervous on the high notes. She listened like she actually wanted to know.

Halfway through the cobbler, Hank stood up and announced he was taking Sarge outside to “check on the roses.” He gave me a look that said, very clearly, *Don’t mess this up,* and then he was gone.

The kitchen went quiet except for the low hum of the refrigerator. Jenna pushed a crumb of crust around her plate with her fork.

“I kept the cups,” I said.

She looked up. “What?”

“The ones you drew on. All of them. They’re on the windowsill in my classroom. My students make fun of me, but… I didn’t want to throw them away.”

Her cheeks went a little pink. “I wasn’t sure if you even noticed. You always seemed in a hurry.”

“I was trying not to say something stupid,” I said. “Didn’t always work. Pretty sure I told you to enjoy your coffee once when you said it to me.”

She laughed—really laughed—and the sound made something in my chest loosen. “I remember that. I thought it was cute.”

“You did?”

“Yeah.” She set her fork down. “I kept hoping you’d ask for my number. Then I’d tell myself you were probably married or just being polite, and I’d draw another dumb picture on your cup so I had an excuse to talk to you for five more seconds.”

I stared at her. Outside, I could hear Hank talking to Sarge like the cat understood English. Inside, Jenna was looking at me with those brown eyes that crinkled at the corners, waiting.

“I’m not married,” I said. “And I wasn’t just being polite.”

“Good,” she said softly. “Because I already told Grandpa I liked the neighbor. I just didn’t know it was you.”

I smiled. For the first time in four months, it felt easy.

“Would you want to get coffee sometime?” I asked. “Not at the shop. Somewhere you don’t have to make it.”

Jenna’s smile turned into a grin. “I’d like that. But fair warning—I’m still going to draw on your cup tomorrow morning. Old habits.”

“I was counting on it,” I said.

From the porch, Hank’s voice drifted in, loud enough for both of us to hear: “If you two are done being shy, there’s more cobbler in here and I’m not getting any younger!”

Jenna covered her face with one hand, laughing. I stood up and offered her the other.

“Come on,” I said. “Before he starts planning the wedding.”

She took my hand, warm and sure, and we walked back outside together. Hank was sitting in his lawn chair with Sarge in his lap and the American flag folded neatly on the table beside him. He looked at our joined hands, then at the fence we’d rebuilt the day before, and his grin turned soft around the edges.

“Well,” he said. “Took you long enough.”