After a slight hesitation, I walk past him and pull it down, further into the light, handling it with care. Thick tank straps connected to an A-line skirt fluffed with tulle, and yes, silver thread weaves flowery patterns into the fabric. It’s clearly handmade and designed for someone of large stature. Someone the size of the man hulking behind me.

“Oh, no.” My fingers graze over a spot on the side. I pull it closer to examine the seam. “There’s a tear here.” I glance up at him.

He stares at me in silence for a lengthy beat, and I think maybe he’s going to kick me out or yell at me. This might be when the murder happens.

But then he bursts into tears.

Shocked, I stare while he blubbers with great heaving sobs, massive shoulders shuddering. What does one do in this situation? Is a hug appropriate?

I hang the dress back up and pat him awkwardly on the arm. “It’s okay.”

The shaking subsides, but the tears keep coming, tripping down his face.

Oh dear.

This is great, Jane. The first time you meet your neighbor after living next to him for however many years and you make him cry. Perfect.

“I can probably fix the dress for you,” I say. “I’m pretty sure I have matching thread, or something close enough, anyway.”

He doesn’t respond at first, covering his face with his hands.

I glance around but can’t find tissues or anything. His apartment is set up like mine, so, leaving him in the entry, I run to the bathroom and grab some toilet paper. The counter is covered in jars of makeup, foundation, eye shadow, a whole box full of lipsticks of varying colors. He has more makeup than I’ve owned my entire life.

“Hugo, here.” I hand him the toilet paper to wipe up his face.

After a few more hiccups, he gathers his breath. “How do you know my name?”

I freeze. Oh yeah. “Oh, the neighbor this morning. He was yelling it.”

And it’s hard to forget when I’ve heard it fourteen thousand times.

“Oh. That makes sense.” He shifts. “The dress.” He gestures to it with one giant, thrown-out hand. “It doesn’t fit me. I was measured for it three months ago and I think,” he blows out a heavy breath, “I’ve gained weight.”

I look him up and down. He’s literally all muscle. Weight where? “Oh. Hmm. May I?” I point at the dress and he nods.

I pull it down again, examining the seams and the tear.

“I can fix this and then let it out. Maybe an inch or two. Do you think that will be enough?” I lift my gaze to his.

Wide eyes meet mine. Hopeful eyes. Eyes sheened with moisture, but at least the sobbing has stopped.