The rain had started as a drizzle, then turned into a steady downpour that soaked everything in seconds. Maria stood under the tiny awning of her front door, keys dangling uselessly from her hand. They'd slipped through her fingers and landed in a puddle, and when she'd bent to grab them, the door had clicked shut behind her. Fuck. Her phone was on the kitchen counter, her spare key was with a friend two towns over, and the locksmith she'd called said forty-five minutes minimum. She was shivering in nothing but a thin tank top and leggings, her hair plastered to her face.

She'd noticed Bob's porch light was still on. The curvy blonde who lived next door always seemed to be up late, always seemed to have music drifting through the walls. Maria had exchanged maybe a dozen words with her since moving in — a wave, a comment about the weather — but tonight, desperation won over awkwardness.

Bob opened the door before Maria finished knocking. Her eyes went wide for a second, then softened into a grin. "Oh, honey, you look like a drowned kitten. Get in here."

The warmth of Bob's living room hit Maria like a blanket. She stood dripping on the welcome mat, suddenly hyperaware of how her wet tank top clung to every curve, how the cold had made her nipples hard enough to cut glass. Bob didn't seem to mind. She was wearing a tight pink dress that hugged her generous hips and showcased a deep cleavage, her blonde hair falling in perfect waves around her shoulders.

"Locked out?" Bob asked, already grabbing a towel from the hall closet.

"Yeah. Locksmith's coming, but it'll be a while."

"Well, you're not standing in my entryway shivering for forty-five minutes. Come sit. I'll make tea."

Maria followed her into the living room, accepting the towel and rubbing it through her hair. Bob's apartment was cozy — soft lighting, a plush couch, a faint scent of vanilla and perfume. It felt intimate in a way that made Maria's pulse quicken.

"I'm Bob, by the way. I know we've never really talked, but —"