"Street’s turning out to be less boring than expected..."

You lean a shoulder against the doorframe and glance down the empty street.

“Quiet street’s turning out to be less boring than expected, ” you say.

You mean the noise, the tipped box, the general strangeness of the afternoon. It comes out neutral. Ordinary.

At the same moment your eyes drop without permission — just for a second — to where the oversized t-shirt ends on Ellie’s thigh. Soft skin, the heavy curve of it, the way the fabric sits against her.

She notices.

Her gaze follows yours for a fraction of a second before she looks away, colour rising higher in her cheeks. She shifts her weight and tugs absently at the hem of the t-shirt, though it doesn’t really need adjusting.

“Yeah,” she says, a little too quickly. “I guess so.”

There’s a short, awkward pause. She glances toward the side of your house where the box and stake had been, then back at you. Her voice softens again, trying to steer things somewhere safer.

“You should probably put your bins out too, while you’re out here. If you’ve filled them up with all the packing stuff. Collection’s tomorrow morning.”

She nods toward the two empty bins sitting neatly beside her own porch, already waiting at the kerb side of her driveway. The practical suggestion sits between you like a small bridge after the unintended glance.

She doesn’t go inside yet.