A/N: Yes I should be posting chapters for I Will Never Knock and One More Hook, but I have writer's ADD, and I needed some fluff in my life. So this story was born... Inspired by Lonely Neighbor by Oh Honey (check them out), this is a fluffy little story about neighbors sweating each other, and some misunderstandings brewing.

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. All creative credit goes to Stephenie Meyer for creating this little universe that I like to meddle in. ;D

Chapter 1: Snark and Insecurities

BELLA

I walk up the third flight of stairs, desperately out of breath, grocery bags in both hands, and settled into the crooks of my elbows. My purse is slung across my torso, further weighing me down. Only as I reach my door do I realize my gross oversight.

I'm weighed down by thirty plus pounds of groceries, and I have no free apendages. Furthermore, my keys have most likely settled into the deepest recesses of my bag.

Although the doorstep is a sturdy enough surface to lay a bag or five, I have personally witnessed my upstairs neighbor's cat take a leak there.

So nope... Not happening.

My forearms are beginning to burn something fierce from the weight, when I hear the deadbolt across the landing slide open, followed by keys jangling. I hang my head in despair, because he's the last person that I want to see today.

I'm a fairly intelligent and well read woman, fully capable of making conversation, but this guy makes me regress into High School Bella; full of snark and insecurities.

He steps out into the narrow landing, and stops short. His face displays the shock of me bogged down by a thousand grocery bags, probably sweating from this unplanned weight lifting exercise.

And then he smirks. This irritating flash of amusement at my expense that I'm well aquatinted with; the same smirk that makes me want to hide under my cat-peed doormat.

If my hands were free, I'd already be inside and checking him out through the peephole like a creeper, because a Guy From 3A sighting on a random Tuesday evening requires peep-age. Instead, I'm frozen in my tracks while my arms threaten to fall off.

I'm debating whether to chuck my bags at him as a diversion and make a hasty retreat down the stairs, or to just ask for help, when he speaks.

"Hey, Neighbor. Need some help with that?" Of course he smirks, yet again.

His question is completely innocuous, friendly even, but my atrophied arms combined with embarrassment at my lack of foresight brings out the snark.

"No, Edward. I'd like to stand here for the foreseeable future and let my fingers fall off." I deliver with a raised eyebrow.

I immediately feel like a first class bitch. It's not his fault that I harbor the world's largest borderline-obsessive and unreciprocated crush on him. It's also not his fault that he has a girlfriend.

A young, gorgeous, and friendly little pixie-like thing named Alice. All big blue wonder-filled eyes and cascading black hair.

Le sigh.

So I do the decent thing in this situation. I offer up a rambling apology.

"I'm sorry! I've had the worst day. My boss was all on my case about this upcoming deadline, and then I left the office to find a nail in my tire. Completely flat. Oh! And the grocery store was completely out of sweet potatoes. So then I get home and tried to go all beast mode and carry all my bags in one go. Up sixty steps. But I'm an idiot because my keys are stuck in the Bermuda Triangle. However, all of that doesn't give me the right to be such a wretched bi-" I'm in the middle of said rambling apology when Edward interrupts me. With his hand. On my mouth.

Gah.

"Bella, breathe. We don't need to add oxygen deprivation to that list, do we?" He raises his own eyebrows, but I'm still stunned by the feeling of his warm hand's brief contact with my face. So I nod, chest heaving from yet another showcasing of my ineptitude. "Let me help you with these bags," Edward says.

Even though I can't feel my arms and I would love nothing more than to drop said bags, I decline his offer. Why, you ask? Because, My feminist hackles just bristled a bit. Obviously, I'm an idiot of epic proportions. But, I also remember the state of my apartment . Not pretty, and I'll be damned if I let Edward see my work week mess. Nah man, not happening.

Instead I say, "Actually, I've got these, but could you grab my keys for me? They're in my purse. Front pocket."

Edward quirks a bushy brow at me, but reaches into my bag to fish for my keys. It's strange, feeling his warmth through layers of polyester and pleather, brushing innocently against my hip. After a few seconds of fruitless searching, Edward grunts low in his throat, his frustration obvious.

"Jesus woman! How much crap do you have in here?" He asks while his knuckle grazes my hip through my purse. For the third time. As the bags on my arms slowly slip from the crook of my elbow, joining the others on my wrist, I hear the tell tale jingling of my key ring and Edward's heat retreats. "Found 'em!" He exclaims triumphantly. "I thought I'd never get my hand back." When he laughs, my shortness of breath is due to more than just physical exertion.

I clamp my eyes shut, breathing in through my mouth for a second. When I reopen them, he's just unlocked my door for me. He holds it open for me, like a freaking gentleman, and I swoon a bit inside.

"Thanks for the help, Edward." I say on my way past him.

"Anytime, Neighbor!" He calls out, closing the door behind him, with a parting smirk.

Down girl! Girlfriend. He's got a girlfriend.

This has been my mantra for the past six months, since the day I first met Edward Cullen.