It arrived on a Thursday, tucked beneath the rain-damp mat on her porch. Nora hadn't been expecting anything, but she picked it up anyway—small, brown, unmarked. The return label just said "J. Hunt."
Inside, beneath layers of tissue paper, was a bundle of soft rope, a velvet blindfold, and a handwritten card that simply read: "Welcome back. Play gently."
Nora blinked.
This was definitely not her package.
She meant to return it right away. She really did. But her fingers lingered on the rope—silky, crimson, warm to the touch. It was beautiful. Not threatening. Not vulgar. Just… elegant.
Curiosity was dangerous. And it made her knock on apartment 4B.
When the door opened, Julian Hunt looked like he'd just stepped out of a noir novel—glasses, cardigan, book in hand, and the faint scent of cedarwood and coffee lingering in the doorway.
"Oh," he said, smiling as his eyes flicked down to the box in her hands. "Looks like you found my welcome kit."
Her cheeks flushed.
"I think the mail gods are playing matchmaker."
He tilted his head. "Would you like to come in for tea? I think we might have some things to talk about."