Heart flutters and repressed fantasies surface when I see him. 

He looks up, shock, recognition, a smile.

“You fixed my dishwasher.”

“Yes.”

“I thought you would kiss me that day.”

“I wanted to.”

“I also hoped you would touch me inappropriately.”

“Ah,”

“I will be home alone tonight.”

“Safe from Halloween Ghosts roaming the streets?”

“The back door will be unlocked.” No answer. Worry. 

“Kiss me.” Blouse loosened, breasts unfettered.

“Touch me.” Ragged breathing. Calloused hands welcome on soft sensitive flesh.

Relief. Elation. Arousal.

“No house lights. Follow the trail of candles to the pumpkin lantern.”

“Okay.”