Chapter 1

The evenings at Rose Creek always carried the light scent of osmanthus.

The evening breeze swept across the balcony, letting the gentle night air flow right into my living room.

My name was Juliette Brook, and I was an unknown illustrator. I spent my days at home sketching.

My personality was soft and mellow. My voice always had a gentle, syrupy softness.

I loved stockpiling snacks, baking cookies, and living a life that was as sweet as sugar.

Before I met Daniel Elliott, I thought my days would always be surrounded by paintbrushes, picture books, and snacks, which was peaceful and uneventful.

That was until a tall, straight-backed man in a dark shirt moved in next door and became my neighbor.

Everyone said Daniel was famous in the industry for being a cold and unapproachable architect, quiet, distant, and ruthless in his work. No one could get close to him.

But only I knew that this man, who seemed aloof and reserved to everyone else, would bring me warm milk when I stayed up late drawing.

He would wait with me for the locksmith when I forgot my keys, remember every little thing I mentioned I liked, and save all his gentleness for me.

When I, the sweet, soft-hearted illustrator, met my cold, distant architect neighbor, there was no messy drama, no heartbreaking misunderstandings.

There was only a gentle, lasting sweetness and the kind of affection that grew deeper with every single day.

*****

I rented a one-bedroom apartment with southern exposure at Rose Creek. The balcony was spacious and bathed in sunlight, perfect for painting.

Moving day was a sunny weekend. I was lugging around boxes big and small, plus an entire box filled with my picture book drafts and art supplies. The effort left me gasping for breath.

The neighborhood was full of low-rise buildings, nothing too tall, and I lived on the third floor.

The stairs weren't steep, but the boxes were so heavy that after what felt like forever, I only managed to reach the second-floor landing before I was spent.

I was squatting on the steps, panting for air, my bangs sticking to my forehead with sweat.

My face scrunched up in worry when I heard a deep, magnetic voice behind me. "Need a hand?"

I spun around, locking eyes with a pair of deep, icy eyes.

He stood at the stairway entrance, wearing a simple dark shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, showing off smooth, defined wrists.

He was tall and lean. His features were sharp and chiseled, with cold, striking eyes, a straight nose, and thin lips pressed together.

He radiated a keep-your-distance vibe, but he looked so good that it was like a business magazine model had walked out of a photoshoot.

He had a briefcase in hand, looked like he'd gotten off work, and must be one of the residents here.

I instantly got a little flustered, my cheeks heating up as I spoke in my usual shy, mellow voice. "Th-thank you. The boxes are heavy. Hope it's not too much trouble for you."

"Not at all," he said. He bent down and picked up the biggest art supply box next to me, lifting it effortlessly, like it weighed nothing.

I quickly grabbed the smaller snack box and followed behind him, quietly adding, "I live in Room 302. Thanks for helping me out."

"301," he replied coolly, never breaking his stride.

So he was my neighbor, the one in Room 301.

When we got to my door, I fumbled around for my keys, my fingers feeling weak and shaky.

He watched me struggle, not rushing me at all. He stood there quietly, waiting.

Once I finally got the door open, I quickly stepped aside to let him in. The place was a total mess, boxes everywhere.

I couldn't help but feel embarrassed. "Sorry, I just moved in, so it's a bit of a disaster."

He set the art supply box down in the middle of the living room, glanced around, and his eyes landed on the picture book drafts I'd taped up on the wall.

He paused for a moment, said nothing, and nodded. "If you need anything, knock on my door."

With that, he turned and left, no extra words, no lingering around. He was aloof, but in a way that felt just right.

I watched him walk away, patting my chest lightly. I couldn't help but think this neighbor was handsome, but so cold.

That afternoon, I spent hours unpacking and tidying up, and by evening, I was so wiped out that I collapsed onto the couch, my stomach growling like crazy.

I scrolled through the food delivery app forever but couldn't decide on anything, so I figured I'd grab a piece of bread and a coffee to get by.

As I started boiling water, there was a knock at the door.

I opened it, still a bit puzzled, and there was my aloof neighbor from next door, holding a white food container.

He held it out to me. "I've got some extra food at home. If you don't mind, help yourself."

Inside were two dishes and a soup. Everything looked carefully prepared and smelled incredible. Clearly, this wasn't a quick fix. It was real home cooking.

I froze for a second and quickly waved my hands. "No, no, you really don't have to. It's too much trouble for you. I'll have some bread and coffee."

"That's not good for dinner," he said, not giving me a chance to refuse as he pressed the container into my hands. "I'm Daniel Elliott, from Room 301."

"I-I'm Juliette Brook, from Room 302," I stammered, clutching the warm container, my cheeks burning. I kept thanking him, "Mr. Elliott, thanks so much."

"You're welcome," he replied softly, then turned and headed back to his own place.

I closed the door, hugging the container, feeling all warm inside.

He always seemed so aloof, but he offered to help with my heavy boxes and even appeared with a hot meal. Maybe he was not as unapproachable as he looked.

That meal was the tastiest I'd ever had. The warm food filled me with a gentle warmth and made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.