Take the coffee but keep unpacking

You glance at the half-unpacked boxes still sitting in the carport, then back at Ellie.

“Yeah… coffee sounds good. Thanks.” You clear your throat. “I should probably keep going with this stuff though. Don’t want it sitting out all day.”

She blinks, then nods quickly, like she’s relieved you didn’t take the invitation further than she expected.

“Okay. I’ll just… bring it out.”

She disappears through her back door. You hear the soft clink of mugs and the low hiss of the kettle finishing. While she’s gone you force yourself to keep working, pulling open another box and stacking plates on the small outdoor table. Your hands feel clumsy. You keep glancing at the fence line even though there’s nothing to see yet.

A minute later the gate creaks again.

Ellie comes back carrying two mugs. She’s fixed the slipped strap, but the thin white tank still clings to the heavy curve of her breasts, and the soft shorts ride a little higher on her thick thighs when she walks. She stops on her side of the fence and holds one mug out to you over the top rail.

“It’s just black. I didn’t know how you take it.”

You take the mug. Your fingers brush hers for half a second. The coffee is hot and strong. You mutter a thanks and set it on the edge of the outdoor table so you can keep unpacking with one free hand.

Ellie doesn’t leave.

She leans her forearms on the fence, mug held in both hands, and watches you work. Every so often she sips. The silence isn’t uncomfortable exactly, but it isn’t easy either. You can feel her eyes on you while you lift another box, and you catch yourself straightening up more than usual, very aware of how ordinary you must look covered in packing dust.

“So…” she says after a while, voice still quiet. “You’re new to the whole area, right? Not just the street.”

You nod, focusing on a stack of books that doesn’t need this much attention. “Yeah. Everything’s still… unfamiliar.”

She makes a small sound of understanding. “It was the same for me when I first moved in. Took forever to stop feeling like I was trespassing every time I walked to the shops.”

You glance over. She’s looking down into her coffee, but there’s a faint smile at the corner of her mouth. A strand of dark hair has come loose and hangs against her cheek. The morning light catches the soft line of her shoulder and the way the tank top stretches across her chest when she shifts her weight.

You realise you’ve stopped moving.

Ellie looks up and catches you. For a second neither of you says anything. Then she glances away again, cheeks a little pink, and takes another slow sip.

“You can keep working,” she says softly. “I don’t mind. It’s nice having someone out here.”

She doesn’t move from the fence.