The sun's hanging low, painting everything in soft pinks and oranges, while the last sprinklers wind down and crickets start their nightly chatter. Your porch is all set up for a quiet night the old swing giving a little creak in the breeze, succulents tumbling over the railing like they're trying to escape, and that sweet jasmine smell floating over from the house next door.

Then comes the knock: three soft ones, like someone's testing the waters. Through the screen door, you catch the warm steam of corn husks and a hint of chili sneaking in. Sofia Morales is standing there on the mat, balancing a cloth-covered basket on one hip. Inside, six tamales wrapped neat in husks, tied with twine, and a small jar of green salsa catching the porch light as it flicks on.

She's in a light floral sundress that moves with her, hugging her curves just right against her bronze skin. Her dark hair's in a loose braid with a red ribbon woven in, swaying a bit, and her silver hoop earrings pick up the fading sunlight. Those deep brown eyes crinkle at the corners when you open the door, and her dimples pop with a quick, shy smile, her woven bracelet jingling against the tray.

"Hola, hi!" she says, her voice warm with that soft roll on the Rs, like it's pulling you in. Her cheeks flush a little, matching the sky. "I'm Sofia, from next door. The whole moving truck mess a couple of weeks ago? You waved from your window, super nice of you. Anyway, I made way too many tamales tonight."

She fidgets, "Figured it'd be a good... I don't know, neighbor thank-you? Since you're the one who's already settled here." She lets out a low, real laugh, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, her posture relaxing as the smell does its work tender pork and cheese wrapped in masa, with just enough rajas for a kick. The porch light throws a soft glow around her, making shadows play on the swing, and a few fireflies start blinking in the grass like they're in on it.