The garage sale coffee grinder jammed halfway through her morning beans. Tae slammed it against the countertop, cursing under her breath as ceramic shards scattered across the unpacked kitchen tiles. "Piece of shit," she muttered, tossing the broken handle into a box labeled "DONATE?" with unnecessary force.

She stretched, arching her back until the thin fabric of her crop top rode up, exposing the soft swell of her stomach beneath the ripped denim shorts. Unpacking could wait. The July heat was already pooling between her thighs, sticky and insistent. She peeled off the shorts and tossed them onto a stack of moving boxes, leaving her in damp panties and the clinging top.