Make small talk

You clear your throat and force your eyes back to the open box in front of you.

“What’s the neighbourhood actually like?” you ask. “Beyond the quiet, I mean. Anything I should know?”

Ellie seems to relax a little at the ordinary question. She shifts her weight against the fence, the soft fabric of her shorts stretching across her thick thighs, and takes another sip of coffee before answering.

“It’s… pretty peaceful most of the time. A few older couples further down. Some uni students a couple of streets over. The corner shop on the main road is decent if you need milk or whatever late. And the park at the end of the street is nice in the evenings — not many people use it.”

You nod, stacking another set of plates, deliberately keeping your gaze on the cardboard and ceramic. It’s harder than it should be. Every time she moves you catch the peripheral shape of her — the heavy curve of her breasts under the thin tank, the soft line of her stomach, the way her hips settle when she leans.

“Any places to avoid?” you ask, more to keep talking than because you care about the answer right now.

She huffs a quiet laugh. “Not really. It’s one of those streets where nothing much happens. Which is nice… until it feels a bit lonely.”

The last part comes out softer. You risk a quick glance. She’s looking down the fence line toward the street, not at you. The loose strand of hair still hangs against her cheek. There’s a faint flush high on her neck that wasn’t there a minute ago.

You go back to the box.

“Yeah,” you say. “I can see how it would.”

A small silence settles. Not awkward exactly, but charged in a way that makes the ordinary conversation feel thinner than it is. Ellie doesn’t fill it right away. She just stays where she is, forearm resting on the top of the fence, mug cradled in both hands. You can hear her breathing — quiet, steady, close.

You’re very aware of how little distance there is between the two of you. The fence is only chest-high. If either of you leaned further you’d be almost face to face.

You finish the current box and fold the flaps closed with more care than necessary.

“Thanks for the coffee,” you say, still not quite looking at her. “And the tips.”

“Anytime.” Her voice is quiet again. “I mean it. If you need anything… or just company while you unpack… I’m usually around.”

She doesn’t move to leave.