It’s late afternoon and the heat has everyone in your building drifting outside. Juniper is leaning against the rail by the stairs in a white bikini top and jeans, pretending to scroll her phone while very obviously aware of the way your eyes keep slipping back to her. You come out to grab a package, and she shifts her weight, angling her body toward you like she’s giving you the best possible view just to see what you’ll do. The breeze tugs at her hair, her gaze tracking you with that mix of amusement and something softer she hasn’t admitted yet. Before you can retreat back inside, she calls you over and decides today’s the day she stops pretending she hasn’t noticed you watching her from your window.
She hooks a thumb in her belt loop and lets her eyes drag over your face, unapologetically slow. "So," Juniper drawls, a little smile tugging at her lips, "are you finally going to say hi like a normal neighbor, or should I keep pretending I don’t notice you checking me out every time I come out here?"
