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No wonder the holiday tent was always in such disarray when he returned from a day off. Not that he minded. It was nice being the linchpin of something, to feel needed.

Kaitlyn honked the horn from the driver’s side of what was apparently Gladys’s sick red sportscar and revved the engine.

“Best be on my way before she drives off without me.” Gladys leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, “I need her help to reset my Wi-Fi password.” She patted his arm. “It’s a lovely place to live. I’ll make sure the Bridge Ladies send positive vibes your way.”

She was at the end of the walkway when she swivelled around and yelled, “Oh, and make sure I get my Tupperware back. That’s the good stuff.”

Bradley gave the two women a final wave before they drove away. As he was closing the door, he noted one of those meal-kit delivery trucks pulling up next door.

Back in the kitchen, he closed the lid on the cookies and went to the fridge. He was shifting around all the other dishes people had given him recently, when a thought came tripping into his mind. He’d never once seen anyone over at Devra’s house except for the occasional delivery truck. In fact, he couldn’t recall ever seeing her leave the house unless it was to run over and yell at him, after which she always frantically ran back inside and locked the door three times. Didn’t she go to work? See friends? Invite family over? In contrast, his sisters had been checking in on him almost daily, his mother had stopped by twice, and his coworkers were continually refreshing his fridge with housewarming dishes. He wondered, now, if perhaps his peculiar neighbour was simply lonely.

Not that loneliness was a simple emotion. He knew too well the suffocating grip of isolation, of feeling alone in a crowd, of feeling like he had no one to confide in without letting those same people down. But he also knew from experience that loneliness had a relatively simple solution. He only had to step outside his fears and confide in those people regardless. Once he had, three out of four of them had shown him he wasn’t so alone after all. Those were fairly decent numbers.

Bradley peered over at the cookie container. He looked out the window to where Devra had once stood, beaming at him, laughing at his Magic Mike impression, which had made him want to thrust faster, be funnier. Her glowing in the window, until she darkened and disappeared, perhaps in dire need of someone to confide in. Perhaps in need of a friend.

Overflowing with determination—as he often was when an idea latched onto his brain—he picked up the cookie container, strode over to Devra’s door, and gave a loud knock.

He watched her front curtains move, and it revved him up like a shot of tequila. He knocked again. No answer. But he could feel her presence on the other side of the door.

“Hey, neighbour. I brought you cookies.” He lifted the container up to the peephole. “I know, I know, you said you wouldn’t eat them. Given the apparent likelihood of a poisoning and whatnot. But does it help to know I didn’t make them? Gladys did. And she’s just a real great lady—I should totally introduce you.”

Silence.

“Okay, how about this?” He removed the lid and took a bite of one of the cookies. “Mmm. I guess if they are poisoned—which, again, is highly unlikely, ’cause, you know, Gladys—then I guess we’re going down together.”

Silence. And yet she was there, he knew it. Listening. Waiting. Debating. He experienced the moment as a metaphor for something bigger, what it might mean if this solitary woman opened her door to him. A bead of sweat slithered down his forehead, and he cursed this bothersome new body of his. Nothing looked more suspicious than a man attempting to convey his innocence while sweating buckets.

“Sorry about this.” He wiped his forearm across his damp forehead. “My therapist says it’s a protracted withdrawal symptom. Like, whenever I get anxious, I experience alcohol withdrawal all over again. It tends to happen when I really want someone to like me.”

Lana and Sara would be slapping their palms to their faces right now. He sounded so pathetic.

“Anyway. Still don’t believe me about the cookies? How about I let you choose which one I eat next. That would be a pretty risky proposition if I knew some of them were poisoned.”

Another long silence. Bradley should have walked away. Any other person would have given up by now. But Bradley remained, unable to take a step back, his pulse racing, wanting, craving to be let in.

Then it happened.

The door opened a crack.

“I don’t think you’re trying to poison me. Anymore.” Only three-quarters of her face was visible through the narrow gap, drawing focus to one lovely hazel eye. “But it’s a workday. For nine-to-fivers, at least. And I have important things to do.”

“Oh.” Bradley spoke cheerfully. “So you work from home? That’s great. What field are you in? I’m guessing it has something to do with computers. Seems anything that can be done on the computer can be done from anywhere these days. Why force people into the office for no good reason? Rush hour. The cost of parking. Uncomfortable dress pants. The worst. Too bad my job doesn’t fall into that category. Although I don’t think I’d have the focus to work from home. I’d much rather be doing something physical, working with my hands, being around other people. I’m a sucker for a good water-cooler conversation.”

Bradley managed to cut himself off and wait for a reply. He received only a puzzled stare. “Sorry. My sisters are always telling me I have a bad habit of rambling when I get nervous.”

“I make you nervous?” she asked.

“Yeah. A little.”

Silence.

Bradley shifted. He’d have to get used to these uncomfortable silences if he was going to stay committed to his new most important life goal of Befriend the Neighbour.

He cleared his throat. “So what did you say your job was again? In retrospect I don’t think I actually stopped talking long enough for you to answer that. Did I? Like I said, it’s a bad habit. My mouth keeps moving because the thoughts keep coming. Anyway. One more time. Here we go. What do you do for work?”

She was quiet for another moment, but this time, he swore he saw a smile tugging at her lips. Just the anticipation of seeing her smile elicited a high.

“I work with computers,” she confirmed at last. She seemed to be speaking at half the speed he was, and he’d learned that when others appeared to be moving slowly, it was more often because he was moving too fast. He reminded himself to slow down, to not get carried away.