He smiled.
I took his wrist.
And I pulled him through the side door into the hallway.
“Renata?”
I could hear the Halloween playlist thumping through the wall.
My heart was doing something considerably less organized.
“With you, it’s not just hello,” I said.
He blinked.
“What do you mean?”
Oh, for God’s sake.
I had spent twelve months imagining this moment, and he’d apparently decided to conduct a customer-service survey.
“I mean I like you, Graham. Not as a neighbor. Not as a friend who remembers recycling day.”
I swallowed.
“I want to kiss you somewhere other than your cheek.”
He opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Looked at my antennae.
I waited.
Nothing.
The silence became unbearable.
“Okay,” I whispered. “Now you know.”
I went back inside.
I laughed at somebody’s costume. I helped cut a pumpkin pie. I pretended my stomach wasn’t sitting somewhere around my ankles.
