Hans By S.J. Tilly

CASSIE

How to make the handsome, brooding man across the street notice me.

Step one: Deliver baked goods to his front porch, even though he never answers his door and always returns the containers when I’m not home.

Step two: Slowly lose my mind as a whole year passes without ever running into him, no matter how hard I try.

Step three: Have my boudoir photos accidentally delivered to his mailbox instead of mine. Have him open the package. Then have him storm into my home for the most panty-melting scolding of my life.

Step four: Still figuring out step four.

HANS

I’m a dangerous man.

A man who has spent the last two decades removing so many souls from this earth that it’s a miracle my hands aren’t permanently stained red.

I’m a man who belongs in the shadows.

I certainly don’t belong in my pretty little neighbor’s bedroom when she’s not home, touching her things and inhaling her scent.

I shouldn’t follow her. Shouldn’t watch her. Because no number of cookies on my doorstep will change the fact that love isn’t an option for me.

The only option left for me is violence.