The next morning, Kindall lingered at her door a moment longer than usual, pretending to check Milo’s leash while casually scanning the street. Joe’s front door was open—just the screen closed. She smirked.
"Let’s go, handsome," she whispered to her golden retriever, who wagged his tail in agreement.
As they made their way down the block, she felt the sun on her shoulders and the stretch of her body with every stride. She liked the way she moved—liked how she knew she was being noticed without even needing to look.
Joe was waiting by his mailbox this time, sipping coffee from a dark blue mug.
"Back again?" he said as she approached, his voice lower this morning, more deliberate.
"Wouldn’t miss it," Kindall replied smoothly, brushing a strand of blonde hair from her cheek. "Milo has his routine... and I guess I do too."
Joe chuckled. "Yeah, I’ve noticed."
Kindall raised an eyebrow. “Oh? You have?”
He shrugged, the corner of his mouth curving into something between a smile and something more vulnerable. "Well, some things are worth noticing."
There was a small silence—not awkward, but charged. Kindall let the pause stretch. She studied him for a moment—salt-and-pepper hair, rugged hands, a gold band on his finger that caught the morning light. She wasn’t naïve. Joe was married, sure. But married men didn’t always act married, and Joe certainly wasn't. And there was something in the way he looked at her—like he remembered what it felt like to want something he couldn’t quite have.
“I like being noticed,” she said softly, her voice almost a whisper. “Especially by people who aren’t afraid to look.”
Joe cleared his throat. “Well, then I guess I’ll keep looking.”
She laughed lightly, a teasing sound. As she turned to walk away, she didn’t rush. She felt the heat of his gaze, could almost hear the thoughts spinning in his head. She walked slowly, letting the sway of her hips do the talking.
That night, she sat on her porch with a glass of iced tea, the soft glow of her porch light catching the shine in her hair. She glanced down the street. Joe was out again, pretending to trim a hedge that hadn’t grown an inch in weeks.
Their eyes met. She raised her glass of tea slightly in greeting. He smiled back—slowly, deliberately—and raised his hand.
Kindall felt her skin warm, her body humming from the inside out.
Tomorrow’s walk would be even slower.