“Let me help,” John called out. He approached from next door dressed in his usual jeans and T-shirt and wearing a face mask. In his hands, he carried a bird feeder.

Linnea swung her head at the sound of his voice, feeling suddenly tongue-tied.

Hope clapped her hands in surprised joy. “John!” she called out, rushing toward him. “You came out of your house! Are you all better now? Did you get my pictures? And my notes?”

He held out his hands to ward her off. “Hold on, sweetheart. Best not to get too close.”

Hope stood rigid, scowling, and said in a disappointed tone, “I thought you were better.”

“I am,” he replied in his easy manner, not the least put off by her mercurial emotions. “Quarantine’s over, but best to keep a social distance, right?” He lowered to talk with Hope, still at a distance. “Thank you for all your notes and gifts. I really liked getting them.”

Hope melted and got all flirty once again. “I got your notes too. And the candy. And your poems. Linnea read them to me.”

He glanced up at Linnea and their eyes met. “Did she?”

Hope pointed to the bird feeder. “Is that for me?”

“Who else? I thought since we’re all looking out windows”—he looked up at Linnea and winked—“why not have something to look at? Other than me, of course.”

Linnea made an unladylike snort.

John reached out to poke Hope’s tummy and she squealed with laughter. “I thought we’d let Linnea tell us where to put it, and I have a big bag of birdseed.” He looked again at Linnea. “What do you say, Lin?”

He’d called her by her nickname. The name sounded sweet on her ears. She lifted her shoulders. “I think it’s a lovely idea. Hope, we’ll write down the names of all the different birds that come to our window.” Looking again at John, her face softened. “Thank you, John. That was thoughtful.”

“I remember how much you love watching birds.”

“Tell me a poem now,” Hope demanded.

“I don’t know, kiddo. You caught me off guard.”

“Please, John?” Hope begged with hands together.

Linnea laughed at her brazen flirting.

“Well, here goes,” John said, then made a show of clearing his throat.

“There once was a girl who moped

She sighed and her shoulders sloped

Till an airplane came flying

And she stopped her crying

And said, ‘That plane gives me hope!’ ”

Hope clapped her hands. “That’s my name!”

“Uh, I don’t think e. e. cummings has anything to worry about,” chided Linnea.

John set the bird feeder on the ground beside the front steps, then walked closer to Annabelle. “Hey, I’m John,” he said, and extended his elbow. “I’m guessing you’re Annabelle.”

Laughing, Annabelle bumped elbows with him in the new 2020 greeting. “You can call me Anna.”

“Anna?” Linnea asked, her gaze askance.

“I’ve decided to shorten it. I’ve never felt like an Annabelle. It’s too”—she speared Linnea with a look—“like a Southern belle. I’m a woman from the South, and that is not the same thing.”