Halloween Romance

I hold a glitter-covered pumpkin under one arm, my purse hanging from the other shoulder. My feet ache.

My cheeks still have traces of stage makeup because I didn’t bother to wash it off after my performance. My silver sequins on my outfit catch every bit of light around me. I look like I walked straight out of a Halloween show and into real life without changing.

Which, technically, I have.

I pause on the sidewalk and stretch one leg behind me, wincing as my calf protests.

“Never wearing those shoes again.”

The promise lasts about three seconds before I remember I have another performance tomorrow.

A moving truck sits in front of the building, its back doors wide open. Two men carry a sofa through the entrance while another struggles with a box that looks ready to fall apart.

I slow down. A new tenant. Great.

I have lived on the top floor long enough to know almost everyone in the building, at least by face. The place isn’t exactly overflowing with residents. The low rent comes with its own collection of inconveniences.

I push through the apartment building's front door, and my gaze falls on the elevator.

Like this, dead for the past few years.

I sigh and adjust the pumpkin beneath my arm.

“One day, I’m going to win the lottery.”

I start climbing. By the second floor, my legs burn. By the third floor, I regret every decision that brought me here. By the fourth, I’m breathing through my mouth.

The top floor finally comes into view.

I drag myself up the last few steps and reach the hallway, where my apartment waits at the very end.

The hallway is quiet. It always is.

No one lives directly across from me, and hardly anyone ever comes this far upstairs. Over time, I have developed a convenient little habit of treating the hallway like an extension of my apartment.

A pair of shoes sits beside my door. A folded costume bag leans against the wall. A stack of unopened mail sits on the little table outside my apartment, untouched for almost a week.

Cleaning has never been my greatest talent. I drop my purse beside the door and look at my beautiful mess.

“Tomorrow.”

Tomorrow has been responsible for most of my cleaning plans. I lower the glitter pumpkin onto the floor. It lands with a soft thump, sending a few loose glitter pieces across the tiles.

I don’t notice. I dig through my purse.

Lipstick.

Hairbrush.

Receipts.

A granola bar I'd forgotten existed.

No keys.

“Come on.”

I dig deeper. Nothing. I turn the purse upside down and shake it. A compact falls out. Then a pen. Then three scrunchies and a few hairpins. Still no keys.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

Behind me, footsteps climb the stairs. The building is usually quiet enough that any sound feels louder than it should. But this evening, my attention is fixed on the bottomless pit that is my purse.

The footsteps get closer. A man’s voice carries up the stairwell, low and irritated.

“Mia, stay close.”

I finally find my keys.

“Yes!”

I pull them out triumphantly and turn around. A little girl stands halfway down the hallway, clutching a stuffed white cat to her chest and a brown-fur boy’s leash. She wears a tiny pink backpack and has a tired little face.

Behind her, a man carries a cardboard box. He stops, and I do too. His eyes travel from my glittery outfit to the pumpkin on the floor, then to the shoes, costume bag, mail, and scattered belongings blocking part of the hallway.

He tightens his jaw. I follow his gaze and suddenly notice my mess.

I offer him a bright smile.

“Hi.”

He doesn’t smile back. His gaze returns ot the pumpkin.

“Is this yours?”

I look down.

“Technically.”

He shifts the box higher against his chest.

“Could you move it?”

I blink.

“Sure.”

I bend to pick it up. The glittery pumpkin slips against the smooth fabric of my costume. My fingers lose their grip. The pumpkin rolls straight toward him. He catches it with his toes before it reaches his door.

He looks down. A trail of glitter sparkles across the floor. His eyes close for a second. I straighten myself.

“Oh.”

He picks up the pumpkin and holds it out toward me.

“Seriously?”

I take it.

“It escaped.”

He pulls his brows together.

“It escaped?”

I glance at the pumpkin, expecting it to defend itself.

“It’s been a difficult evening.”

He looks at the hallway again.

“It seems like it.”

Something about his expression makes my smile disappear. I place the pumpkin against the wall.

“Okay. What exactly is your problem?”

He shifts the box in his arms.

“My problem is that I just moved into this building with my daughter, and I’d like to be able to get through the hallway without stepping over someone’s belongings.”

I look around, grab the costume bag, and move it against the wall.

“There. Problem solved.”

He glances at the shoes.

“And those?”

I look at them and pick them up.

“And the mail?”

I grab the stack.

“And the pumpkin?”

I look at him.

“You’re really committed to this, aren’t you?”

His mouth tightens.

“I’d just like some basic consideration.”

I curl my fingers around the mail.

“Basic consideration? I’ve lived here for five years.”

“And?”

“And nobody has ever complained.”

“Maybe nobody wanted to.”

I shoot up my brows.

“Wow.”

I notice a little girl looking between us and immediately lower my voice.

“Sorry.”

He shifts his attention to this daughter.

“Mia, go wait by the door.”

She hugs the stuffed cat tighter but doesn’t move her dog either. His shoulders rise as he takes a slow breath.

“Tessa, right?”

I narrow my eyes.

“You know my name?”

“You’re the only person who lives up here.”

“So you’ve been investigating me?”

“I’ve been moving furniture into an apartment.”

“Same thing.”

He stares at me, and I stare right back. For a moment, neither moves. Then I fold my arms.

“You know, for someone who just moved in, you’re already very good at making enemies.”

“I wasn’t looking for any friends.”

“I bet nobody wants to be some grump’s friend.”

He looks at the glitter scattered around his shoes.

“Just clean up your mess.”

I follow his gaze. A few glittering pieces cling to the toe of his sneaker. I bite back a laugh, and he notices.

“You think this is funny?”

I press my lips together.

“Maybe a little.”

His expression darkens.

“Unbelievable.”

He turns toward the apartment door across the hall. I watch him struggle with the box while a little girl follows. Something about his stiff shoulders and permanently irritated face makes me want to poke the bear.

I pick up the pumpkin and step closer.

“Hey, Mr. Sunshine.”

He turns his head, and I smile.

“Welcome to the building.”

He narrows his eyes.

“Stay out of my way.”

I smile wide.

“After you.”

He disappears inside the apartment. Then I look down at the glitter across the floor. I shake my head.

“Definitely, Mr. Sunshine.”

I hear a box-dragging sound from across the hall. Then I hear a little girl’s voice.

“Daddy?”

She giggles.

“She’s sparkly.”

A smile tugs at my mouth.

Mr. Sunshine grunts.

“She’s annoying.”

A little girl keeps giggling.

“But she smiled.”

Mr. Sunshine’s voice fades.

“So do mosquitoes before they bite.”

I shake my head, and the sound of things moving around drifts through the wall.

I unlock my door, toss the keys on my console, and walk back outside. I hear him hissing.

“I’ve been in the building for less than an hour and already hate her.”

I pick up my things, carry the glitter pumpkin in the end, and kick the door shut behind me.

“Definitely hate him, but I will not let him live in peace.”

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