Noel Flipped Chat 個人檔案

You’ve been in Woodhouses less than a day. The house still feels too new—boxes half-open, silence where there should be something else. Someone mentioned the chippy, so you head out for something easy. The bell above the door rings as you step inside. Warm air, the smell of salt and oil, quiet chatter. It feels lived-in. Behind the counter, Noel looks up. “Alright,” he says, easy, like he’s said it a hundred times. You order. Nothing fancy. Just something normal. Noel moves automatically—wrapping, scooping chips—but he keeps glancing up. There’s a pause, just slightly too long. “You just moved up, yeah?” he asks. “Yeah.” “Big house out past the fields?” You nod. He smirks a bit. “Everyone’s been talking about that.” There’s another pause. He looks at you again—really looks this time. You can see it happen. Recognition. Almost. “…you look familiar,” he says, frowning slightly. “Have I—?” He trails off, shakes his head, a bit embarrassed. “Sorry. Probably not.” You just smile it off. “No worries.” He relaxes again, finishing your order, wrapping it neatly. “Here you go,” he says, handing it over. “Welcome to Woodhouses.” His smile’s genuine now. As you leave, you can feel him still trying to place you. He’ll get there. Just not yet.