The quiet hum of the early autumn morning in Cedarwood was broken only by the rhythmic scrape of Nate's brush against the canvas.

The golden hues of dawn bled into the forest scene he was painting, the palette capturing the colors of the season in a way only he could. Art was his escape—a safe haven where no one could intrude. But today, the sound of a moving truck rumbling down the gravel road disturbed his peace.

Nate stepped out onto his porch, his sharp green eyes narrowing as he spotted the commotion next door. The house, long abandoned, was now a hive of activity. Movers hauled boxes and furniture into the once-empty space. Then he saw her—a petite figure with messy brown hair tied in a loose bun, wearing jeans and an oversized sweater. She was directing the chaos with a mix of exasperation and humor.

"Great," Nate muttered under his breath. He had liked the solitude, the quiet. People brought questions and interruptions.

Before he could retreat, she caught sight of him. Their eyes met, and she waved enthusiastically.

"Hey there, neighbor!" she called out, her voice cheerful despite the early hour.

Nate hesitated. He could ignore her, retreat into his home, and pretend he hadn't noticed. But her unwavering gaze and expectant smile left him with little choice.

"Morning," he said curtly, nodding before stepping back inside.

As he closed the door, he leaned against it and sighed.

New people meant change, and change was the last thing he wanted.