𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒 || 𝐣.𝐚.

011 | 𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 morning, the sun hung high in the sky, warming the quiet neighborhood as Y/n made her way down the sidewalk toward Jacob's house. Her steps were light, almost eager, though she tried to pace herself. She didn't want to seem too eager, especially since she didn't know if he'd even be awake. Jacob seemed like the kind of guy who could sleep in after a late night. Still, it was nearing noon—surely, he'd be up by now.

When she arrived at his door, Y/n paused, staring at the plain, dark wood for a moment before knocking lightly. She waited, listening for movement inside, but all she heard was the faint chirping of birds in the distance. Her brows knitted together in mild confusion. 'Maybe he didn't hear me?' Determined, she reached down and pressed the doorbell. A muffled chime echoed from inside, confirming it had worked. Y/n straightened her posture, feeling a little awkward as she waited.

Her fingers fiddled with the hem of her sweater, but the door remained shut.

'Is he not home...?' She thought, biting her lip. Her disappointment grew as she considered the possibility. She didn't know his work schedule, so perhaps he'd left for the day. Sighing softly, she descended the steps, her hands tucked into her pockets as she started to turn back toward the street.

But then, movement caught her eye.

She stopped in her tracks and turned toward Jacob's backyard. Through the slats of his wooden fence, she spotted him—a familiar figure standing by a clothesline, methodically pinning laundry to dry in the gentle breeze. Y/n tilted her head, a little surprised. She'd assumed Jacob would have a dryer in his home. But as she watched him work, she realized it suited him—this old-fashioned, simple approach to things. A smile spread across her face, and her previous disappointment evaporated. She approached the fence, resting her arms on the top rail as she called out, "Hey, Jacob!" Her voice was bright, her wave enthusiastic.

Jacob froze mid-fold, his head snapping up at the sound of her voice.

For a moment, he looked caught off guard, but then the corner of his lips twitched into a smile. His attempt to suppress it was futile—Y/n could see the warmth and happiness in his expression. "Well, howdy, Y/n..." he drawled, his voice carrying that familiar, laid-back charm. He set the folded shirt in his hand onto the basket beside him, turning fully to face her.

Y/n leaned on the fence, studying Jacob with a curious gaze. "You doing alright?" she asked after noticing the faint bags under his eyes.

He looked tired—whether it was from a sleepless night or because he wasn't wearing his glasses and kept squinting, she wasn't sure. Jacob paused for a second, as if considering his response, before flashing a quick smile. "I'm doing just fine, thank you. Just hangin' up some laundry," he replied, gesturing toward the clothesline. He casually tossed the shirt in his hand into a hamper nearby. After a beat, he added with a sheepish shrug, "But, uh, don't tell anyone, but I was having some trouble with it earlier."

Y/n blinked, her brows lifting. "Uh-oh! Don't tell me you accidentally turned all your clothes pink..." she teased lightly, though she winced inwardly at how awkward the joke sounded.

To her relief, Jacob chuckled softly, the sound low and warm. "Nah, nothing like that," he said. "I just had this stain on my favorite flannel, and no matter what I did, it wouldn't come out. Damned thing got me madder than a wet hen." He chuckled again but didn't elaborate further, knowing he couldn't risk giving away what had really happened to the flannel. Still, he had no regrets—especially not after the satisfaction of last night.

"Aw, I'm sorry to hear that, Jacob..." Y/n said, her tone genuinely sympathetic. She tilted her head slightly. "Were you at least able to get it out?" she asked, hoping to keep the conversation going. She didn't have anywhere else to be, and truthfully, she'd missed moments like this—simple, easy banter with Jacob.