Drabble 5

Nothing had happened… yet. I was still trying to decide if it was a good idea to throw myself at my next-door neighbor.

He moved in exactly 56 days ago, and for each of those days I left my apartment just to run into him. I’d check my mailbox a few thousand times even if I’d already picked up my mail. I’d wait at the elevator even if I had nowhere to go with one eye peeled towards his door, and I’d linger at my door, fumbling extra loudly with my keys, hoping he’d come out. Yeah, sure it was cheesy, but it worked. More often than not, he’d be at his mailbox or in the elevator too, and on many occasions he helped me with my groceries.

We had small-talked to death. He was a carpenter – his trim, muscular body spoke to all the wood he lifted daily. He was a Giants fan, hated Hondas, was allergic to calamari and he once mentioned that, “High boots like yours are hot,” with a dangerous grin.

Gah.

The flirting drove me nuts. I wanted less talk, more action, but was it a good idea? No, it was just sheer torture.

Day 61 found us outside my door carrying on another cute, yet benign conversation. It’s when I resigned myself to the fact that we would probably be no more than flirty neighbors since I was most likely deluding myself.

Then his hand was on my cheek.

My wide eyes snapped up to his.

His wet lips grew closer to mine.

I couldn’t breathe.

We kissed and kissed and kissed as I nearly melted down the wall.

And from day 61 on, my flirty neighbor was so much more.