“I’d much rather be in there”— he nods at our shared wall— “with you.”

My heart unstitches itself from my rib cage and bounces across the floor. Just as I’m about to start scrambling for it, he adds, “Kidding, kidding. I only want you for your TV.”

Translation: Don’t get the wrong idea, dork. I open the linen cupboard. “I could have sworn there was a set of sheets around here.” There’s not even a roll of toilet paper. Very hard times.

“Ruthie,” Teddy says all husky and persuasive behind me. That wallpaper-stroke sensation slides down my back again, but he didn’t lay a finger on me. “Could I have your Wi-Fi password?”

“You are dreaming, Theodore.” I have to be a bit cruel to this tomcat, or he’ll be mewing at my door all night. “Well, the supermarket is still open. Off you go.”

He’s glowing at me now. He’s got a special smile with perfect teeth, somehow increasing the intensity the longer I stare up at him. “What is it you think you’re doing right now?”

He blinks and the force field dims. “What?”

“You’re attempting to charm me.” I’m gratified to see he’s now quite embarrassed and he now can’t meet my gaze. “Your magical powers probably work on girls a lot, but they won’t on me.” I hope I’m right. I go back into my cottage and he slides in behind me before the door shuts.

“It’s so warm in here.” He rubs his hands together like he’s come in from a blizzard. His pink cheeks add to the effect. “I’ll just sit awhile.” Now he’s on my couch, unfolding a health magazine. “Let’s see. Yeast infections. What the hell does that mean? What’s yeast?” There’s an excruciating pause as his eyes move side to side. Sorrowful, he says, “How do women endure it all?”

I find words. “I’m not having a bath while you sit out here.”

“Why not?” He looks back at the oven, still preheating. He’s thinking about how to score an invitation for dinner. He pats the TV remote. He snuggles into a cushion and sighs. “I think I’m in heaven.”

There’s no lock on the bathroom door. “I don’t know you.”

“I feel like I’ve known you forever,” Teddy replies, with an earnestness that takes a bone-crushing amount of effort to resist. But to borrow Renata’s words: I’ve been training for this.

When he leaves for good, I’ll be left remembering how lovely this moment felt. Effortless, instant friendships don’t come along every day. Everyone who’s needed my help has eventually vanished without a backward glance. The fold-out sofa in my parents’ basement is remade with fresh sheets. The residents change their address to heaven. The Parloni boys leave in a fury. Melanie’s contract will end. Sylvia hasn’t sent me a postcard.

Sadness has a good grip on my throat. “Out.”

Teddy heaves a big sigh. “Well, hurry up and have your bath so I can come back in and you can know me.” Like that’s a perfectly reasonable thing to tell your new neighbor/virtual stranger, he walks out— with my magazine— and closes the front door behind him.

Being naked feels wrong now, but I persevere. I sink down in the bath and wait for the heat to sink into my muscles and slowly unpin me. The angry return email I’ll get from Sylvia about today’s developments feels further away. She can’t get me here. I melt into a pink marshmallow, every single stress I’ve had throughout the day just gone—

“Ruthie.”

I jolt upright, sloshing water over the edge. A candle goes out. I cover myself with my arms, top and bottom, and I have to recheck that he hasn’t wandered in. “What is it?”

His voice is crystal clear through the wall. “I’m lonely.”

I’m glad he can’t know I smiled at that. It would only encourage him. “Go away, Teddy, I am in the bath.”

“Fuck, these walls are thin. We need to make a toilet roster. I have this medical condition where I cannot take a shit if a pretty girl might be listening.” I hear a tub-squeak on his side of the wall.

My mouth opens and I cackle at the ceiling. “Oh my God.” I blaspheme loud enough that God’s going to call my father personally. Reverend Midona, it’s about your daughter. Wait. Did Teddy say pretty girl?

I can hear the grin in his voice as he continues. “I’m just sitting here now in my empty bathtub, fully clothed, so keep your mind out of the gutter. None of the luxuries you’re enjoying right now. Definitely no kerosene hair treatments.”

“Try keeping your inner monologue inner.” I’m grinning too. “I bet you’ve used handwash as shampoo.”

“I have, is it that obvious? I don’t deserve this amazing hair.” A big pause is left, perhaps for a compliment. “I need to buy a toothbrush.” Another pause is left dangling for a small eternity. “Come help me choose one. You’re tidy, I’m a mess. Label my life for me.”

This isn’t the first time a new Parloni hire asked me to help with something. My smile fades and I remember how Jerry Prescott tried to task me to clean Teddy’s new quarters. “Was I put on this earth to be an assistant?”

“I don’t even know how to work out what size sheets to buy. I texted a picture of the mattress to my sister Daisy, but I had nothing to use for scale.”

The word scale makes me think of bananas and ChapSticks. “And?” I have to sluice water over my face.

He has a fond laugh in his voice. “She said to ask a grown-up.”

“Does the cute helpless thing work on everyone?”

Cheerful: “Most people. Ever been on a motorbike?” He’s actually serious.

“I’m sorry to say that I am done for the day.” Tonight’s routine will continue. Oven timer ding, today’s Heaven Sent episodes, and a bit of lurking around in the forum. I’ll do some stretches, write in my journal, and then I’ll be tucked up in bed with my sweet old Ted … I mean, Rupert. My childhood bear, Rupert.

He says, “Pretty early to be done for the day. It’s six thirty.”

“In Providence time, that’s midevening.”

In a way that makes me think he is trying to be careful, he says, “You know there’s a world outside Providence, don’t you?”

He’s too close to a nerve there and I feel the twinge. “I don’t have to explain my routine to you, Complete Stranger.” I inhale deep and slide all the way under the water, exhaling bubble after bubble.

When I resurface I hear, “We’re neighbors. We share everything.”

I pick up a bar of soap from the ledge and regard it dolefully. Everything? “I really don’t remember that being part of the deal.”

“The deal?”

I’m confused. “Huh?”

“Did my dad say something like: If you can get my baby bear interested in the family business, I’ll give you a ten grand bonus?” Teddy does a good impression of his dad. I also think he’s worried about my answer.

“I wish he did say that.” I splash water on my knees to watch the suds slide. When he doesn’t react, I add, “I’m kidding. No bribes were taken.”