Chapter Text
Mrs. Dupery was the best neighbor I ever had. Quiet, polite, and, most importantly, never once complained about my 2 a.m. typing habits. She left cookies on my doorstep every Sunday and called me "dear" like I was part of her knitting circle. She had lived here since the Nixon administration, maybe longer, and in a building full of noise and nonsense, she was the closest thing I had to peace.
Then she died three weeks ago.
I'd watched a handful of potential renters tour Mrs. Dupery's old apartment, but every single one of them bolted the second the realtor casually mentioned she had died there. People can handle haunted houses on Netflix, but mention someone peacefully passing in their sleep and suddenly they're out.
Whatever. Their loss. But someone was going to take over 3B eventually, and that's what worried me. I wasn't naïve enough to think I'd get lucky twice. Karma was bound to balance the scales, which meant the next tenant would be some loudmouth busybody, the kind who treats your life like an inconvenience and looks for any excuse to bitch about it.
"Or it could be an insanely hot guy," Alice said, waggling her eyebrows at me as she sipped her coffee.
I barked out a laugh so hard it turned into choking, my macchiato shooting straight down the wrong pipe. The scene spiraled into a spectacle, and the entire Coffee Bean crowd turned to stare as I hacked and gasped like someone had just read me my own obituary.
Alice had to pat my back like I was five. She even raised my arm as if that would somehow help.
"I'm fine," I sputtered, jerking away from her. She held up her hands in mock surrender and sat back down.
"Not happening," I said.
She shrugged in that infuriating way it that said, It could happen.
"Even if it did, so what? Why would I want to get involved with a guy who lives a door away? I like where I live."
She rolled her eyes. "You always assume the worst."
"No, I'm a realist."
"Not every guy is a Jac—"
I cut her off before she could finish that name. "Don't start, okay?"
"I'm just saying."
"Not everyone finds their person at ten, alright? I'm happy for you and Jasper, but you two are the exception. Dating in 2025 is hookups, no strings attached, and keep it moving. That happily ever after crap is for the birds."
Alice gave me that look. The one that cuts right through the sarcasm and sees the truth underneath.
"It's been two years, Bella."
Time passing wasn't going to change anything. It could be twenty years and I'd still feel the same. We'd had this conversation a million times. Her pushing didn't soften me. It just made me dig my heels in deeper.
I waved her off. "Trust me, it's going to be a total Karen. Just watch."
****
Another week passed. I was enjoying the solitude of sitting out on my balcony in the dead of night, laptop on my knees while the Seattle rain drummed against the railing. The city felt stripped down then, and the water became a conduit for inspiration. Some of my best work came during those hours, but I got too complacent. I stopped watching the traffic outside my door, convinced no one was ever going to move in. And that complacency cost me. I missed everything — the initial walkthrough, the final walkthrough, the sound of furniture being dragged up three flights of stairs, even the click of a new key sliding into the lock.
Fucking all of it.
What finally tipped me off was the sound of Elenore Duprey 3B being scraped off the mailbox. Emmett, the building's handyman, was hard to miss: broad-shouldered, always in a faded Mariners cap, and perpetually smelling like WD-40 and fresh paint. He was a good guy, just not what you'd call discreet, more marching band than subtle. I stopped in my tracks, shoulders slumping.
"Someone's renting it out?"
He glanced up at me, razor blade mid-swipe. "Oh, hey, Bella. Yep, moved in Saturday."
I frowned. "Saturday? Are you sure? I didn't see anyone."
Emmett hesitated, then shrugged. "Yeah, well, quiet fellow. Only had one moving truck. Took the crew less than two hours to get him moved in."
"It's a guy?"
He shifted, suddenly uncomfortable. "Yeah."
"Who is he? What does he do? What's his name?"
"Umm…" Emmett straightened, slid the blade back into his pocket, and rubbed the back of his neck. "Young guy, I think. Not sure. Do you need anything else?"
My face flushed hot. Oh God, I was interrogating the poor man. I forced a tight smile and shook my head. "No, thank you."
He nodded and got the hell away from me as fast as he could.
I was confused. Last Saturday? I was home all day. In fact, I remember exactly what I was doing: nothing. That was it. Sitting on the couch, watching my shows, completely oblivious while some random-ass guy invaded my space. Well, now I had a new objective: be neighborly.
So, I turned on my heel, headed to the best bakery down the street, and bought a welcome basket. It was filled to the brim with Cinnabons, danishes, croissants, and pastries I couldn't even name. It smelled amazing.
When I got to the door, I took a deep breath and practiced the words in my head. Hello, my name is Bella. I live right there in 3A. I just wanted to welcome you to the building. That sounded good, not overly weird, just thoughtful and polite.
I raised my hand and knocked. The sound was hesitant, like a little bird tapping. Obviously, no one answered. I tried again, harder this time. The knock echoed down the hall. Definitely loud enough. Still nothing.
Okay. Doorbell. I pressed it and heard the ding-dong chime from inside the apartment. No one came.
Well, that settled it. They weren't home. What the hell was I going to do with the basket now? Glancing down the hall, I debated my options. I could leave it, or come back later.
When I turned back toward the door, I noticed it, the peephole. It was black, then it shifted, glowing white with light. Someone was watching me.
I leaned closer, as if I could see back, but duh, that was stupid. Of course I couldn't. It was a one-way view.
So, I knocked again. "Hello? I live next door. I wanted to welcome you to the building." I lifted the basket a little. "See? I brought you something tasty."
I expected someone to open the door and apologize for being so skittish. You know, stranger danger. Who wouldn't be terrified of a five-foot-five, 125-pound girl standing outside their door? But, alas, I was met with silence. They didn't even give me the courtesy of continuing to stare at me through the peephole. Rude, much?
"Okay," I said after what felt like a long-ass minute. "I'm just going to leave this right here at your door." I set it down and backed away. "If you need anything, I'll be right there. Name's Bella."
Ugh. I felt ridiculous, talking to a door. Literally.
Going back into my apartment, I shut the door and hurried to look out my peephole. Whoever lived there had to open their door to grab the basket. But that's not what happened. I watched for way too long, and no one came out. The basket just sat there, untouched.
I stepped away from the door, sort of perplexed.
"It's weird, right?" I said to Alice.
I'd called her on FaceTime after an hour of no one coming out. Did I sit there and watch through my peephole for an hour? Of course not. I mean, I had to take potty breaks.
"Maybe it's a kid at home who was told never to open the door for strangers," she tried to rationalize.
"Maybe," I said, then added, "but the basket is still there."
"You could've poisoned it."
"It's sealed. From Anna's Bakery."
Alice all but moaned. "Oh God, I love that place. It's so good. I swear I'd risk death for a fucking cheese danish."
"Right? We all would. Especially a kid. They don't give a shit. Sugar is sugar."
That seemed to put it into perspective for her. "Okay, it's definitely strange. What did you say the handyman said?"
"That the guy was quiet," I said, distracted, my eye still pressed to the round hole in my door. The view made the hallway seem narrower, but everything was clear as day. Not even a wayward breeze moved that damn basket.
"Ooooh, so it is a guy," Alice said.
I rolled my eyes. "Get a grip."
"It could be the man of your dreams."
"Or Ed Gein, who kills me and uses my skin as a lamp."
She laughed. "Seriously, lay off Netflix."
Pushing away from the door, I groaned. "What's more likely? A charming guy who refuses any social interaction or a psycho recluse who may or may not murder me later?"
Alice went quiet. I could see her thinking it over.
"Yeah, you know I'm right."
"Well, at least you know it's not some Karen."
At that point, I figured that might've been better.
****
The basket haunted me. It sat there every day, untouched, right smack in the middle of the doorway. Whoever lived there had to step over it to get inside.
For a week or so, I tried to make myself feel better with the recluse theory. Maybe this guy — or whoever it was — had social anxiety. What was it called again? Agoraphobia. Maybe the person Emmett talked to wasn't even the tenant.
I imagined all sorts of possibilities: some weird old hermit, the exact opposite of Mrs. Duprey, hardened by the world and too shut off to re-enter it. Or, worst-case scenario, Ed Gein.
All of that changed, though, the day I knew they were coming and going and stepping over my kind gift. They ordered something from Amazon. I saw the package sitting there when I came home one day. The pastries were now molding, but that shiny box was sitting pretty. And on it was a label. A name. Something I could Google later.
So I crept closer, keeping one eye on the door and the other on the peephole, trying in to see who the package was addressed to. As I leaned down to look, a door across the hall opened. Mr. Goodbach stepped out and startled the hell out of me.
"Hello!" I blurted, my voice too high, too guilty.
He smiled. "Afternoon, Bella."
"See you later," I muttered, then bolted back into my apartment.
As I cursed myself for being such a crazy person, I heard the door to 3B close. My head snapped toward the sound, and I rushed to the peephole. Yep. Son of a bitch. The Amazon package was gone.
"You asshole!" I shouted at the door, loud enough for the whole floor to hear.
Then it hit me.
The mailboxes. Of course. How could I miss something so obvious?
Flinging my door open, I marched past 3B, glaring at that red-painted door like I could push my stare straight through it and into the man behind it. I didn't know who this person was, but I hated them. Who refuses a gift? And not just refuses it — refuses to even touch it. They acted like I'd handed them cooties and the whole thing was contagious.
"Well, I'll tell you what, Mr…" I muttered, pressing my finger to the mailboxes and skimming over the names. "Bella Swan 3A…" My finger slid to the next one. "…Are you fucking kidding me?"
E.A.C.
Initials. That was it.
"Who is this guy?"
I couldn't work. The obsession with my neighbor had taken over. Even when I sat out on my balcony, I found myself staring at 3B, hoping for any sign of life, but the drapes were always drawn tight, like they were hiding from the world. It was infuriating.
Eventually, I couldn't stand the sight of that damn basket anymore, so I threw it away. But I wasn't the type to let things slide. In its place, I left a note:
To Whoever Lives Here:
Congratulations on officially becoming the rudest person I've ever not met. I left you a welcome basket because that's what decent human beings do, and you not only ignored it, YOU stepped over it every single day like it was roadkill.
Don't worry, I threw it out. God forbid you catch kindness like it's a contagious disease.
Sincerely,
The neighbor you're pretending doesn't exist (3A)
And what do you know? Mr. Recluse took the note. Or it blew away. I chose to believe he took it, read it, felt like shit, maybe even cried a little, and would be knocking on my door with an apology.
"There's not a strong airflow in the hallway of apartment buildings, so most likely your neighbor got it," Alice said.
She'd come over to play cards with me. It was our Wednesday ritual, something we'd been doing since college. Less often now, with her teaching schedule, but we still tried to make it happen when we could.
"I'm meeting your twenty and raising you ten," I said, throwing a few more chips into the pile.
She whistled. "Wow, big pimpin' over here. Did you get a huge advance on that article for Newsweek?"
"I missed the deadline," I said, avoiding her eyes.
"You what?"
I cringed at her judgment. "It's no big deal. I'll just do another one."
Alice set her cards down flat on the table. "That's not the point, Bella. You're letting this… this fucking 3B rule your life."
I scoffed. "No, I'm not. I don't even care."
"Oh, right. It's only been two months since E.A.C. moved in."
I looked at her, surprised.
"Yes! I know this guy's fucking initials because you talk about it all the time," she said, throwing her hands up. "You need to let it go. Not everyone needs to know their neighbors."
"It's not even about knowing him anymore," I said.
She crossed her arms over her chest. "Bullshit."
"Honest. Maybe in the beginning it was, but now it's curiosity. Who is he? Or her? Or they, them — I have no idea. Two months, Alice, and I haven't seen a single person enter or leave that apartment."
She softened just a little. "I get that. It would be kind of frustrating. The mystery."
"Exactly!" I sighed, feeling somewhat deflated. "It also feels like it's me. Like they're personally ignoring me."
Then I lost her. "They don't know you."
"Remember the peephole?"
"Someone was looking at you?"
"Yes. They saw me. And now they're deliberately keeping their distance."
"How would they even know to do that?"
"They watch me come and go."
She laughed and rolled her eyes. "Bella, honey, you're just as much of a recluse as he is. You work from home, you get your groceries DoorDashed, and the only time you leave the apartment is to meet me for coffee."
"Hey, sometimes I have meetings in the city," I said, offering my weakest defense.
She ignored it. "And that's fine. You're fairly normal, so I never worried. But now? This? I'm concerned."
Now it was time for me to leave the table. I threw down my cards and stood. "Don't be. I'm not crazy."
She followed me into the kitchen. "You're obsessing."
"I'm fine," I said, more firmly this time.
"And Newsweek was what? You never miss a deadline. It's affecting your work. You don't see this as a problem?"
I faced her, not sure what to say, so I let it all out. "What about the basket, Al?"
"Oh, fuck, that fucking basket." She was pulling at her hair, what little she had of a pixie cut. "So they let it rot. Who cares?"
"I do!" I yelled.
Then I heard it, the door. She did too. We both ran toward mine, fighting over that damn peephole. Finally, I managed to shove her out of the way.
"It's my fucking neighbor, remember?!"
She backed up, and I pressed my eye to the hole, catching a glimpse of 3B before he turned the corner. He was tall and lean, with crazy bronze hair and a perfectly tailored navy suit.
All I could say was, "Oh, fuck me."