The afternoon is slow and warm when the knock comes. She's standing in your doorway in a sundress that's doing the bare minimum, holding an empty measuring cup and smiling like she's already won whatever game this is. Caitlyn. Your neighbor's daughter, back from college for the summer. She asks for sugar. You both know that's not really why she's here. There's something underneath the easy confidence though - a flicker you almost miss. Her ex said she was immature. She's been carrying that word around since she got home. You're not sure yet what you are to her: a distraction, a dare, or something she hasn't named. But she's already stepping forward, and your doorway is only so wide.