I turned the engine off anyway.
The front door of the building required a key. I knew that already. Zoey had mentioned it the first day she showed me the apartment. She had also mentioned the broken intercom that nobody had fixed yet.
I stood outside the door, holding flowers and chocolate for several minutes before someone finally stepped out from the lobby.
A man in running clothes held the door open while checking his watch.
“Thanks,” I said.
He nodded and jogged past me toward the sidewalk.
The lobby smelled faintly of old carpet and cleaning solution. The stairwell sat to the left of the mailboxes. I climbed the stairs slowly, holding the flowers carefully so the stems didn’t bend.
Zoey’s door was halfway down the second-floor hallway, and several packages were stacked outside it.
A large box, with a picture of an office chair printed on the side, had fallen across the hallway. Anyone walking through would need to step over it.
That seemed like a problem.
I knocked on her door, then waited.
No answer.
I knocked again.
Still nothing.
She was probably out.
I glanced down the hallway. There was no movement from the other apartments.
Setting the flowers down beside the packages, I took a small notebook from my jacket pocket. It took a few tries before my pen started working.
Hope you’re having a good day. Thinking of you. Liam.
I placed the note between the stems so it wouldn’t fall off, then I put the chocolate beside the flowers. That seemed like a normal amount of effort.
I made it halfway down the hall before I stopped.
I couldn’t just leave everything outside the door. Anyone walking past could take them.
Obviously, tenants were not concerned with letting people in who didn’t live here.
I turned around and looked at her door again.
Zoey had shown me where she kept the spare key once. I could simply place the flowers and packages inside the apartment, then lock it up again.
Problem solved.
My brain immediately rejected that idea.
That is a boyfriend task. You are not her boyfriend. That is also stalker behavior. You are not a stalker.
I stepped away again, but I only made it four steps.
A woman came out of the stairwell, carrying a full laundry basket. She nearly tripped over the office chair box.
“Oh,” she said, catching herself on the wall.
