I'd heard he was a single father with a child who had a genetic defect. Life was hard for him. A man like that—harmless, pathetic—would make anyone lower their guard.
That was why, when I saw him trying to stifle his sobs in the fire stairwell, I felt a pang of sympathy. The sound was heartbreaking. I quietly placed a pack of tissues near him and walked away to give him dignity.
The next day, he rang our doorbell, holding Joseph's hand and a plate of cookies.
Claire and I were both surprised, though her reaction was impatience. She'd just stepped out of the shower, wearing nothing but a loose bathrobe. Running into a male neighbor while half-dressed was hardly decent.
Colin had turned beet red. He hurriedly set down the homemade cookies and fled, ignoring my polite attempt to keep him—as if he were the one being violated.
I wasn't good at socializing, but the cookies were clearly made with care. Guilt and courtesy compelled me to invite him over for a meal later that week.
My intention was simply to return the favor. I never expected it to be the catalyst for them to start exchanging glances right under my nose.