Every Four Years

The neighbour

The smell hits me before I even reach the kitchen.

“Umm… what is that?” I ask, eyeing the steam curling from the oven.

Grace grins over her shoulder, a streak of flour across her cheek. “Blueberry muffins.”

“My favorite,” I say, leaning against the counter. “Have I ever told you how wonderful you are?”

“Save the ass-kissing, Alley Cat,” she says, sliding the tray out. “These aren’t for you. They’re for our new neighbor — a welcome-to-the-building gift.”

I fold my arms. “No fair. I’m your best friend. Why don’t I get muffins?”

Grace arches an eyebrow. “Quit complaining. You get plenty of muffins at work.”

It’s true. Every Wednesday, she teaches a kitchen basics class at Haven, and she always brings me leftovers — cookies, scones, anything sweet and comforting. I swear she’s single-handedly responsible for my sugar addiction.

I glance at the clock. “So what time are we supposed to be helping this ‘new guy’ move in?”

“He’s getting here at eleven,” she says. “That gives you just enough time for a run and a shower. And maybe a coffee — you seem particularly grumpy this morning.”

I stick my tongue out at her like a child and go to get dressed.

Running is my way of shaking the ghosts loose. I take the stairs two at a time — I never use lifts. I can’t. Too many bad memories of narrow metal boxes and the smell of cigarette smoke.

Outside, the morning air is cold and sharp. I pull my earphones in and hit play on my Boss Mode playlist.

First up: Where the Devil Don’t Go by Elle King. Perfect.

I don’t pace myself. Haven might be my life now, but some things never leave you — the discipline, the drive, the need to move until the pain turns into clarity.

When I get back, I’m dripping sweat, lungs burning in that good way. Grace’s voice greets me from the kitchen.

“Oh good, you’re back! Coffee’s on the table. Make it a quick shower or we’ll be late.”

She rounds the corner and wrinkles her nose. “On second thought, take your time. You reek.”

I grin, still breathless, and give her my sharpest mock-predator smile.

“Ugh, stop that!” she laughs. “You know that grin freaks me out.”

Twenty minutes later, I’m clean, caffeinated, and only mildly less grumpy. By the time I meet her by the door, I can already hear the thud of boxes being moved in the hallway.

“You in a better mood yet?” Grace teases.

“I’m always a delight,” I deadpan.

She snorts. “Sure you are.”

We step into the corridor, where two men are hauling furniture through an open apartment door. The place is a mess of boxes, cords, and half-assembled furniture.

I lean close to Grace and whisper, “He’s not as hunky as you said.”

She shoots me a glare that could curdle milk.

“Excuse me, sir,” she says sweetly to one of the movers, “do you know where Lucas is?”

The man blinks. “Who?”

“The man moving into this apartment,” Grace says, still smiling.

“Oh, him. Downstairs by the truck.”

Grace thanks him, then heads toward the lift. I make a beeline for the stairs.

“Oh, come on!” she calls. “Can’t we use the lift once? We’re going to be up and down all day. You’ll wear a hole in the stairs.”

“It’s only two floors,” I say. “You can take the lift if you want. I’ll meet you down there.”

She sighs. “Fine. But next trip, we’re using it!”

We reach the front door at the same time, sunlight spilling over the pavement. The moving truck is parked right out front. A man is bent over a stack of boxes, sleeves rolled up, muscles moving under his T-shirt.

Grace leans in. “See? Told you. Very nice ass.”

She’s not wrong.

I push the thought aside as he straightens up and turns. He’s tall — not just gym strong, but capable strong — with dark hair, warm brown eyes, and a smile that feels… easy. Like he uses it often.

Grace is already halfway to him, her confidence on full display. “Hi! Lucas?”

He looks up, grinning. “Hey, Grace. How are you.”

“Perfect, I mean I’m—uh— we’re perfect, thanks.”

Wow, Grace is tripping over her words like a school girl with a crush, it's pretty funny to watch.

“We’re ready to help. This is my roommate, Alley.”

He turns that smile on me, and suddenly my stomach is doing somersaults. What the hell is wrong with me?

“Hey, Alley,” he says, offering his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

I take it before I can think. His grip is firm but warm. His eyes flick down to our hands for just a second, and I pull away before he can notice the scars across my knuckles.

“Alley is single,” Grace blurts.

“What the—?” I glare at her.

She grins, all innocence. “Just checking you still remember how to talk.”

Lucas coughs to hide his laugh. I’m one second away from taping her mouth shut.

“So,” Grace says brightly, “what do you want us to carry?”

Lucas gestures toward the open van. “Everything’s labeled. Just grab what you can handle. And thanks, really — I appreciate the help.”

We each take a box. Lucas and Grace head toward the lift. I veer for the stairs.

“Uhh, Alley?” Grace calls.

“Oh. Right.”

I change course and step inside the lift beside them. The air feels too tight.

Lucas glances at me. “You don’t like enclosed spaces?”

“Don’t like lifts,” I say flatly.

“You don’t have to help, you know. I’ve got the movers.”

“It’s fine.”

Grace jumps in smoothly. “What Alley meant to say is that she’s happy to help a friend.”

“Yep,” I say, giving him my best fake smile—the one that mama taught me. “Happy to help.”

We work for about half an hour. Grace keeps up a steady stream of chatter with Lucas — about the neighborhood, the best takeout places, the weather. I add the occasional comment, just enough to pass for social.

By the last trip, the apartment looks almost livable.

Lucas wipes his forehead with the back of his arm. “The depressing part is, now I have to unpack all this.”

Grace laughs. “Then how about a coffee break? Come over to ours — we made muffins this morning.”

Lucas brightens. “That sounds great, as long as it’s okay with you, Alley. I don’t want to impose.”

Grace gives me a look that clearly says say yes or else.

“Of course,” I say, forcing a smile. “After all that work, we deserve it. And Grace’s muffins are legendary.”

Lucas grins. “Can’t wait.”

Back in our apartment, I make the coffee while Grace sets out the muffins like a proud parent. We sit around the kitchen table, the afternoon sunlight spilling across the counters.

“So,” Grace says, “where are you moving from?”

“Harlow,” Lucas replies. “Just got promoted, so I had to transfer boroughs.”

“Congratulations!” Grace says. “What do you do?”

“I’m a detective. Metropolitan Police.”

The words hit me like a punch.

My spine stiffens. My chest tightens. I stare at the table, the steam rising from my mug.

“You’re a cop?” My voice is flatter than I mean it to be.

“Yeah,” he says easily. “Just made sergeant last month.”

Grace smiles, oblivious. “That’s amazing. Congratulations.”

But I’m already on my feet. “I have to go,” I say, grabbing my jacket. “I’ve got a class to teach.”

Grace frowns. “That’s not until—”

“I’ll see you later.”

I don’t look back as I walk out the door.