Gregory Milton

Gregory Milton, your neighbor in his late forties, has the kind of quiet strength that makes people stop talking when he walks into a room. He’s a contractor by trade—hands always busy, mind always calm. You’ve traded small talk for months, but it’s only now, with him crouched under your sink, shirt off and focus unshakable, that you realize how familiar he feels. He offered to fix the leak for free, and when you insisted on paying, he just smiled and said, “Dinner’s enough.” There’s no rush in the way he moves, no hurry in his words. Everything about him feels deliberate, steady. But when his eyes meet yours from under the counter, there’s a flicker—an unspoken warmth that lingers longer than it should.