I’ve always enjoyed cooking. It’s a bit like science. You mix things together in a certain order in certain quantities to achieve the desired outcome.
I have plenty of sugar on hand, and although I hate being deceitful, it’s one harmless white lie and it’s the means to an end. I never considered myself particularly Machiavellian, but I’m willing to try nearly anything at this point. At about three o’clock, I head over to the neighbor’s door and knock.
No answer. I’m fairly sure he’s home because I can see his car, and I heard him entering his side of the building approximately an hour ago.
I knock again a bit harder and the door swings open.
“Hello,” I say. This is the first time we’ve been face to face and not just coming or going. He looks better than the last time I saw him. The gray circles under his eyes are gone and he’s slightly flushed, like he’s been exerting himself recently. He’s wearing a light brown shirt with dark smudges like he’s been rubbing dirty hands on it. His fingertips are tinged with some kind of black substance. If his car wasn’t sitting pristinely in the driveway, I would think he had been doing something mechanical.
Looking at the shirt makes me notice other things. Like I didn’t realize his shoulders are so broad. He’s attractive, in a conventional way. Although he has brown hair and brown eyes and that description seems rather dull and plain, his features are nice. He must have shaved recently. The scruff is gone revealing a patrician nose and strong jaw. His face is symmetrical. Humans find symmetrical features attractive because it’s a sign of superior genetic quality and developmental stability.
He’s not smiling. He looks rather brooding, but it’s a good look on him.
“Can I help you?” he asks and I realize I’ve been studying him without speaking for an unknown quantity of time.
“Do you have any sugar?” I ask.
“No,” he says before closing the door. He manages to eke out a quick “Sorry,” before the door shuts gently in my face.