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Mrs. Ramirez notices the moving truck first.
It’s early, barely past seven, and she’s tending to her front garden—mostly succulents now, after last summer’s heatwave cooked her petunias into crisps. She sees Eddie Diaz hauling boxes into the back of a truck with the kind of tired efficiency that says this move isn’t sudden but still unwanted. She waves. He waves back.
The next time she looks out, he’s gone.
But his Jeep is still there.
It’s not until three days later that she sees him—the blond one, the pretty one with the laugh that carries over the fence when he used to visit Eddie and Christopher. Mrs. Ramirez had always assumed they were together. They fit. The kind of couple that never made a show of it, but you just knew. They shared groceries. Mowed the lawn together. There were late-night porch talks, and gardening days.
So when Buck (he introduced himself as Buck the first time, all sunshine and sincerity) shows up with his own keys and no Eddie in sight, she puts it together immediately.
A breakup.
Eddie must’ve moved away to heal or start fresh or whatever people do when love ends and a house feels too full of it. And Buck—dear sweet Buck—got the house. Or maybe didn’t want to leave because of the memories. She tells her husband. Then tells her book club. By the end of the week, the whole cul-de-sac knows: Eddie and Buck broke up. Eddie left. Buck stayed. By the end of the month, Buck is invited to wine night.
“Buck, sweetheart,” Linda from three doors down says as she hands him a glass of sangria. “You doing okay, hon?” Buck looks up from the board game, completely confused. “Yeah? I mean, I lost at the Game of Life, but I’ll survive.” There’s an awkward and sad chuckle. Mrs. Ramirez pats his arm.
“You don’t have to talk about it, but we’re here if you need anything. Heartbreak’s a beast.” Buck blinks. “Oh. Uh. Thanks?” He doesn’t get it.
They all exchange glances. Mrs. Ramirez brings him homemade tamales the next day. Linda invites him to her grandson’s birthday party. Someone down the street starts leaving flowers on the porch. And Buck, sweet oblivious Buck, just smiles like everything is perfectly normal.
It becomes a bit of a neighborhood ritual—checking in on Buck.
Linda starts leaving baked goods. Banana bread, zucchini muffins, a tray of lemon bars that Buck almost finishes before realizing he’s lactose intolerant. He eats them anyway. "They're too good to waste," he says, mid-stomach cramp, grinning through the pain like it’s a badge of honor. Across the street, Raj invites him over to watch basketball on Sundays. Buck doesn’t even like basketball, but he shows up with chips and guac every week.
And then there’s Ms. Nolan, who’s ninety-four, barely five feet tall, and blind in one eye. She insists Buck come help her hang her wind chimes because she “misses the sound of love in the air.” He doesn’t understand what that means, but he’s halfway up a ladder before he can ask.
One Saturday, Mrs. Ramirez invites Buck to her backyard for carne asada and cheap red wine. He brings sparkling water. She lets it slide. They’re sitting under string lights, the air warm and soft, when she finally says it. “You know, Buck… it’s okay to miss someone.” Buck blinks. Looks up from his paper plate. “Huh?”
“Eddie,” she says gently. “You don’t have to pretend. We all miss him, but it’s not the same for us.” Buck lets out a little laugh, soft and wistful. “Yeah… I do miss him. I mean, obviously. He’s my best friend.”She nods, like she’s waiting for more.
He runs a hand through his hair, staring off toward the Diaz house, glowing faintly next door. “It’s weird, you know? Being in the house without him and Chris. It’s quiet. Like… too quiet. The kind that makes your thoughts feel loud.” Mrs. Ramirez hums. “First night must’ve been hard.” “Oh yeah.” Buck laughs again, a little too loud. “I didn’t even sleep in the bedroom. I crashed at my sister's place the first few nights.”
She gives him a soft, sympathetic look.
“The first time I actually got any sleep…” he starts, then pauses. “Well, that was the night I, uh… I saw Tommy. My ex.” Mrs. Ramirez raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t plan it. I just—we just met at a bar, and I was restless, and next thing I knew…” He shrugs, awkward. “It wasn’t even about that, really. I just wanted to not feel alone for a minute.”
There’s a beat of silence, the kind that feels like it’s holding its breath. “Oh, sweetheart,” she says finally. “Sometimes we reach for the wrong comfort when we miss the right one.” Buck doesn’t know what to say to that. So he sips his water and stares at the fence between their yards.
Two days later, he finds a box of self-care stuff on his porch: face masks, bath bombs, a notebook titled Processing Your Emotions Without Making Out With Your Ex, and a little card that just says:
We see you. You’re doing great. ❤️ — The Neighborhood
He still doesn’t get it.
The first real misunderstanding happens during Trivia Night at Raj’s house.
Buck has no idea how he got roped into it—he just meant to drop off jumper cables. But then someone handed him a beer, and next thing he knew, he was on Team “Heart & Seoul” with two middle-aged moms and Linda’s very intense Pomeranian, wearing a name tag that read “BUCK (THE ONE WITH THE SAD EYES)”.
“Wait, why do I have a name tag?” he asks. “It’s how we keep track of returning players,” Raj says smoothly, avoiding eye contact. “It’s a… neighborhood thing.” He shrugs. “Cool.”
Every time he gets a question right, someone squeezes his shoulder and says, “You’re so strong.” He thinks they’re just being supportive.
A week later, Buck’s halfway through washing his truck when he sees Ms. Nolan shuffling up the driveway with a plate of cookies. Her cane has a glittery pink tennis ball on the end. “Young man,” she says, “I brought you my divorce cookies.” “Uh… thank you?” “They helped me through three husbands. You’ll find peace, eventually.” Buck accepts the Tupperware with wide eyes and a grateful smile. “Wow. That’s really kind of you. Are they peanut butter?” “Yes. And healing.”
Eddie knew something was weird the second he turned onto his old street from his trip to the grocery store.
First off: Linda didn’t wave.
Linda always waved. She had that big floppy sunhat and little garden gloves and would wave with both hands like she was guiding a plane in. But today? Nada. Just narrowed eyes over a rose bush. Okay. Maybe she didn’t see him.
Then came Raj. Jogging. Usually friendly. Today? Stopped dead mid-stride, gave Eddie a tight nod, and kept running—backwards.
Then Ms. Nolan. She was sitting on her porch, which Eddie had built a new railing for last summer, and she didn’t even smile. Just raised her mug that read “Men are disappointing” and took a sip.
He parked, got out of the truck, and was nearly hit with a Frisbee from one of the neighbor kids. “Sorry, Mister Diaz!” the kid called. Then, quieter, “Didn’t know you’d be back…”
What the hell was happening?
He barely made it to the porch before Mrs. Ramirez appeared on the steps, arms crossed like a disappointed abuela in a telenovela. “Eddie,” she said coolly. “Hey, Mrs. Ramirez! Wow, I didn’t realize how much I missed this place.”
“Hm.”
That’s it. Just hm. A dagger of a syllable.
He frowns. “Everything okay?” “You tell me.” Her eyes flick to the house behind him. “You abandoned that poor boy.” Eddie freezes. “...What?” “That sweet man with the tragic eyes and the golden heart. He was devastated.”
“Wait—Buck?!” “He brought sparkling water to wine night, Eddie. He’s clearly hurting.” Eddie opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again. “We’re not—We weren’t—”
Mrs. Ramirez raises a hand. “Don’t. Not after what you did.” Eddie walks into the house to find Buck in the kitchen, wearing pajama pants, cutting fruit with intense focus.
“Hey, man!” Buck grins. “You’re back early!” “Yeah, I—what the hell did you tell the neighbors?” Buck looks up, confused. “Nothing? Why?”
“I just got hit with a guilt-laced wave of silent judgment.”
Buck snorts. “Oh yeah, they’ve been super intense lately. Really sweet, though. I’ve been to like four game nights and Raj gave me a stress ball shaped like a heart.” Eddie stares at him. “They think I left you.” Buck blinks. “...They do?” “Yes!”
Buck shrugs, already popping a grape into his mouth. “Well, you did move to Texas.” “I texted you weekly!” “Yeah, and I missed you,” Buck says simply, smiling. Eddie just stares. “...You’re unbelievable.”
From outside, a voice calls out:
“We’re watching you, Eddie!”
It’s Linda. Holding a garden hose like a threat.
Buck waves cheerfully. “Hi Linda!” “Hi, sweetheart! Not you.”
Linda has never meddled. Not once. Not truly.
Sure, she’s made a few calls in her time—maybe connected a friend’s son to a promising job, or ensured that the HOA president mysteriously lost the re-election after trying to outlaw porch flags. But that wasn’t meddling. That was justice.
But this?
This is different.
This is love.
That poor Buck—so bright, so pure, always offering to help with groceries and pet-sitting and trash bins. He’s been abandoned. Left behind by that muscled, brooding man with the military hair and a clearly unresolved fear of commitment.
Linda has watched far too many seasons of The Bachelor to sit idly by and do nothing. So she organizes a Neighborhood Pasta Night: Love, Forgiveness, and Fettuccine.
Eddie knows something’s off when Buck opens the front door in a button-up shirt. “You’re dressed up,” he says, frowning. Buck looks down. “Oh yeah. Linda said we’re having some kind of dinner thing? Apparently it’s reconciliation-themed?” Eddie blinks. “What?”
“I guess they’re trying to heal some old wounds in the neighborhood?” Buck shrugs. “I figured it was that thing with the parking signs.” Eddie does not think it’s about the parking signs.
They walk into Raj’s house to find a full-on candlelit dinner, three casseroles, and a massive banner that reads:
"LOVE DESERVES A SECOND CHANCE."
Eddie stops dead in the entryway. Buck just whistles. “Damn, they went all out.” Linda beelines toward them, beaming. “There you are. Sit, sit—Buck, you look radiant. Eddie, you look… present.” Eddie mutters a thank-you like it’s an insult.
Dinner is a spectacle. There’s dramatic sighing. Refill after refill of wine. A toast from Ms. Nolan, who says, “To letting love bloom again, even if it bloomed stupidly the first time.” Eddie finally leans toward Buck and whispers, “Do they think we’re married?” Buck laughs. “Pfft. No way.”
From across the table, someone says, “I just think it’s brave that Buck agreed to cohabitate with his ex-husband again. Such growth.” Eddie turns to stone. Buck furrows his brows. “Wait, what did she—” “Oh my god,” Eddie hisses. “I told you! You didn’t know?”
“...Know what?”
“They think we dated. That I dumped you. That you’ve been emotionally spiraling for two months.”
Buck opens his mouth. Closes it. Replays every conversation he’s had since moving in. “...So the ‘You Are Enough’ cookies weren’t just a general affirmation?”
“No, Buck.”
“And the gift basket with the essential oils called 'Mend Your Aura?'”
“No, Buck.”
Buck looks stunned for a moment. Then he grins. “Well. At least they care.” Eddie drops his face into his hands. “I can’t believe I’m in a neighborhood-wide rom-com and I’m the villain.”
Linda watches as Eddie refills Buck’s water, then steals one of his garlic knots. As Buck bumps Eddie’s knee under the table, smiling like a man who never knew he was being adored. Linda sips her wine.
They’ll get there. She’ll make sure of it.
The party planning begins before Eddie even proposes.
Mrs. Ramirez has a sixth sense for this sort of thing. She sees it in the way Eddie looks at Buck when he laughs—like the sound is a song only he hears. She sees it in the way Buck absentmindedly touches Eddie’s back when he walks by, like gravity’s just doing its job.
She knows. They’re close.
Linda’s already offered her backyard. Raj has claimed grilling duties. Ms. Nolan is crocheting a banner that says “ABOUT TIME” in bold sparkly letters. All that’s missing is the actual proposal. Buck doesn’t expect it when it happens.
They’re on the porch one night—his favorite place in the world—drinking lemonade out of mismatched mugs and watching Chris chase fireflies across the lawn. And Eddie says, very quietly, “You wanna stay here forever?” Buck leans back, smiling. “I basically already do.”
“No, like… officially. Stay. Marry me.” Buck blinks. “Wait. What?”
Eddie turns pink. “I don’t have a ring. Or a plan. But I’ve been in love with you since… forever. I just figured it out later than everyone else.”
There’s a beat. And then Buck smiles like the sun just came out, and he nods, and says, “Yeah. Okay. Yeah, absolutely.”
They plan to tell people gently. Slowly. Maybe just start with the 118. But Mrs. Ramirez already knows. She senses it in the air.
That morning, she texts Linda: 🍾 THE BOYFRIENDS ARE FIANCÉS. INITIATE OPERATION "HAPPILY EVER DIAZ-BUCKLEY." 🥂
The party is insane. There are fairy lights strung between trees, a taco bar, cupcakes with little cartoon fire helmets, and a guestbook that reads:
“Please Sign Below If You Saw This Coming From Day One”
Buck opens the front door to a literal flash mob of neighbors in coordinated shirts that read:
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“Team Buck”
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“Team Eddie”
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“Team I Knew Before They Did”
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and Ms. Nolan’s shirt: “They Were Emotionally Married in 2019.”
Eddie nearly turns around and goes back inside. But Buck’s laughing, wide and bright and beautiful, and Eddie figures he could survive one more round of neighbor teasing if it means getting that smile for the rest of his life.
A few guests still whisper like they missed a few chapters. “Didn’t they break up?” someone mutters near the lemonade table. “No, no,” someone else says. “They were never actually together. But we thought they were. And then we thought they weren’t. And now they are?”
“They definitely moved backwards to go forward.” Someone shrugs. “Honestly? As long as we get cake, I don’t care.”
Near the end of the night, Mrs. Ramirez calls for everyone’s attention and clinks a fork against a glass. “To Buck and Eddie,” she says, beaming. “For finally catching up to what the rest of us knew the whole damn time.”
“To Buddie!” someone yells. They clink glasses. The fairy lights twinkle.
And somewhere between the speeches, the dancing, and the awkward neighbor karaoke, Eddie takes Buck’s hand, squeezes it, and whispers: “You know, I think we might owe this whole thing to Mrs. Ramirez.”
Buck leans in, grinning. “Honestly? I think we owe it to your lawn. If I hadn’t mowed it so much, they might never have thought we were dating.”
Eddie laughs, shakes his head, and kisses him under the string lights—right where the banner ABOUT TIME waves gently in the breeze.