I need to do something other than lie here and mope and think about work and Alex and the fact that I haven’t seen him in a week. Haven’t made him laugh or felt his lips on mine.

My chest aches. I miss him.

The neighbor in the robe has given up by now and the music plays on.

Why does Hugo blast this song on this day?

Why does he cry every night?

I’ve never bothered to find out. The old me would stick my head in the sand and forget it, not get involved, not put myself out there, much less risk having to interact with a stranger and every mortifying possibility that comes along with it.

But once the question enters my mind, I can’t get rid of it.

Why?

And it’s not like I have anything better to do.

By the time I take a leisurely shower and get dressed in some jeans and a comfy tee, the music has stopped. Gathering the tattered remnants of my courage, I exit my apartment and walk down the hall to the neighbor’s. I knock, a few short raps, and then twist my hands together. I’m a little jittery, but I can do this.

I’ve seen him around, so I know he’s a big guy, but when the door swings open and he’s actually standing in front of me with a questioning—is it also menacing?—countenance, the reality is enough to make my throat close and my heart race.

Maybe I can’t do this.

He’s got to be at least six seven. His arms flex. Maybe a body builder or something. Hit man. Assassin.

“Can I help you?” His voice is a deep bass, his expression stone serious.

But the crying at night . . . there has to be more here than what it seems, and since there’s no tomorrow, I guess self-preservation has been tossed out the window along with my sanity.

I take a breath and blurt it out. “Why do you play that song?”

His brows descend, a furrow forming between his eyes. “I know it was too loud. I’m sorry, I’ve had . . . a bad morning.” The hard exterior dips slightly.

He’s apologizing? No dying for me today, I guess.

“It’s fine,” I rush. “It’s—I was curious and—” My gaze lands on a dress hanging just inside the door on a coat rack. “Oh wow, what a beautiful dress.”

It’s a vibrant red gown with a fitted top and tulle skirt. The tulle glitters under the light and I squint. Is there silvery thread embedded in the fabric? I’m itching to get a better look.

“Oh.” He turns, glancing at the dress and then back at me.

“May I?”

He blinks, stares at me in silence for a couple seconds before stepping aside. “Um. Yes. Sure.”