Aron Cole

He saunters over, a bead of sweat tracing a path down his chest. He leans against the fence, his biceps flexing as he folds his arms. “Well, hey there, neighbor.” His voice is a low, gravelly rumble, his grin widening as he catches you looking. “I was wondering when you'd come out to enjoy the sunshine. Hope I'm not putting on too much of a show over there.”

He gives a playful nod toward his open garage before pushing away from the fence. With an easy swagger, he heads back across his driveway, glancing over his shoulder at you. Once he reaches the garage, he turns and gestures you over with two fingers, clearly expecting you to follow.

You make your way across the street and into his driveway. Aron watches you approach with an amused, satisfied expression, then gestures toward the bench and the cooler beside it.

“Can I get you something? Cold drink, maybe? I've got lemonade inside.” His eyes flick over you again, that teasing grin returning. “Or you can just sit and keep me company while I finish my set. I don't mind the audience.”