“I wish I was.”
“He ordered the proposal cake fromyou?” His voice rises with indignation. “That schmuck! That absolute—” He catches himself, taking a deep breath. “Well, that’s just tackier than these dollar store decorations.”
Despite the topic of conversation, I laugh. “They’re not…tacky. They’re festive.”
“You’re too kind, Molly.” He smiles, climbing onto a stepladder to hang a streamer. “Regardless, I’m sorry that happened. And in all fairness, I always thought he was a—what do the kids call it? Ah! Atool.”
I giggle, securing another heart to the wall, this one slightly crooked. I leave it. “Thanks, Danny.”
He stretches to reach the ceiling, and I hold the ladder. “Forget him. Tomorrow night, this room is going to be full of people celebrating love in all its forms. Sophie invited all her girlfriends from book club, the Johnsons are celebrating their fortieth anniversary, and there’s that new couple in 203 who can’t keep their hands off each other—”
“Danny!”
“What? I have eyes.” He winks.
I unroll a banner that says ‘LOVE IS IN THE BUILDING’ in glittery, red letters.
He climbs down and surveys our progress. “Looking good. Now, help me with this photo backdrop. I bought props I hope everyone will enjoy. Fake mustaches, oversized sunglasses, little signs that say things likeBe MineandLove Stinks.”
I raise a brow. “Love stinks?”
“That one’s specifically for Luke in 402.” He chuckles. “Gotta have options for all emotional states.”
My heart does a little swoop at the very mention of my burly, closed-off neighbor from across the hall.
Luke Harrison, local electrician and quite possibly the most attractive man I’ve ever seen in person.
He’s also got the personality of a grizzly bear.
Which should be a turn-off, but somehow…isn’t?
I’ve lived in this building for as long as he has, and our interactions have been limited to polite nods in the hallway and the occasional ‘excuse me’ when we’re both checking the mail at the same time. But I notice him.
Like cupcakes dusted with powdered sugar, boy do I notice him.
Dark hair that’s always slightly messy, like he’s been running his hands through it all day. Green eyes that see everything. Broad shoulders that fill out his work shirts in a way that’s dangerous for the seams of said shirts—and unsuspecting doorframes. And his hands… Large, strong, capable hands that I’ve spent an embarrassing amount of time thinking about as of late.
Last Tuesday, when he was getting his mail, an envelope fell. When he bent over to pick it up…well, let’s just say I may have ogled a bit longer than I should have. And when he straightened and caught me staring? I pretended to beveryinterested in a nonexistent scratch on my mailbox key.
Did I mention he’s also intimidating as heck?
I’ve never seen him smile. Not once.
Thankfully, the conversation strays away from a maybe-could be-shouldn’t be, tiny, sort of crush I may or may not have on a certain someone.
The pizza comes as promised and Danny and I chat about tomorrow’s party plans while we finish decorating. He tells me about the playlist he’s been curating. Everything from Sinatra to Taylor Swift.
He mentions the cake he ordered from my bakery and kindly asks if I can deliver it with my arrival tomorrow.
“Of course,” I say, tossing empty packaging in the trash while Danny sweeps.
I step back, admiring our handiwork. The rec room and lobby look like a valentine exploded, but in the best possible way. Maybe it’s Danny’s infectious enthusiasm, or the ridiculous amount of pink and red surrounding us, but this bad day took a turn for the better.
“I do appreciate it,” he says. “Tell you what, I’ll knock fifty bucks off next month’s rent for the special delivery and if you don’t mind slipping a few reminder invites under a door or two on your way up.” He pulls a small stack of handmade, heart-shaped invitations from his back pocket.
“Danny,” I chide. “You can’t keep giving me rent discounts for being neighborly.” Rent is already more than fair. Better than anything you could find for hundreds of miles in any direction. I seriously don’t know how he turns any profit.
“Watch me.” He hands me the invitations and I smile at the handwriting that’s so unmistakably my cheeky landlord’s. “Besides, after the day you’ve had, you deserve it. That Nathan’s a moron, by the way.”
