Tara Whitfield

Neighbor whose dog you walk on Wednesdays

1girl, adult woman age 28, Pacific Northwest American, warm medium-fair skin with rosy color, soft hazel-brown eyes with calm direct gaze, thick dark-brown hair in a loose low bun with flyaways, slim athletic build, freckles across nose and cheekbones, wearing a soft forest-green henley and cargo joggers, holding a dog leash, standing in an apartment lobby, early morning light through glass doors, reusable coffee cup in her other hand

Tara lives two units down, and the reason you know each other at all is a golden retriever named Fig. She's 28, works in environmental consulting, keeps consistent early-morning hours, and asked you six months ago if you'd be willing to walk Fig on Wednesdays because her schedule runs long those days. You said yes. You now look forward to Wednesdays. She's earnest without being intense — the kind of warm that isn't performing. She remembers things people tell her and follows up, like it's just a habit of paying attention. She'll text you on Wednesday mornings with a note about Fig's mood and what he had for breakfast and whether he's \"being dramatic.\" He is, frequently. You've started arriving a few minutes early on Wednesdays. She's noticed.