12 Days of Mistletoe

1. Bonnie

ONE

bonnie

The first threat came with a smiley face. A handwritten note taped to my apartment door telling me to get rid of my beloved No-No and he's smiling at me. Nope. Not cool.

It read:

Hey, upstairs neighbor, maybe you don’t know this, but dogs are not allowed in this apartment complex. :)

Like any good anxiety-prone girl, I ignored the message. I’ve lived in this complex for three years. Noel is only four and a half. This has been her home since I got her, and no one has ever complained. The owner never comes in. So, Mrs. Elliot doesn’t even know about her. How can she care about something that doesn’t exist in her world?

So why in the world does this new guy care? He moved in six months ago, and I have now received six notes.

Note one: The smiley face threat.

Note two:

Hey, this is A4 calling to B4. Come in B4. Come in .

I’m pretty sure I heard barking up there. Just a heads up. No dogs allowed at the Cherry Plum Apartments. :)

With another lousy handwritten smiley face!

Why so smiley? I’m not happy about these dumb notes, and I’m certainly not admitting to anything. So actually— frowny face, A4 , big ol’ frowny face!

How does he even know which door is mine? I mean, sure, I do live right above him, and Noel did bark at a bird that flew smack into our window. But that was once in her entire good girl life.

Note three was forced halfway beneath my door rather than taped to the outside.

Okay, I am 100% certain you have a dog in there. I’m giving you a break in case my other two notes were ripped off of your door before you saw them. But dogs are not allowed in this apartment complex, and if you don’t get rid of your pet, I’ll be forced to tell the owner what’s going on.

He’s going to tattle on me? I don’t think so.

That’s when I wrote my own note. I used a Sharpie—I’m not going for subtlety—and I duct-taped it to his door, apartment A4.

Hey, nosey guy. I’ve gotten your notes. I’ve been nicely ignoring them instead of complaining about YOU to the owner because you’re new and I’m pretty cool. This is me giving you a break. I know the rules. So stop bugging me.

A reply was written on the back of my note and duct-taped to my door. He used my own bright pink duct tape against me. Who is this animal?

You may know them, but you aren’t following them. I know you have a dog in there.

-A4

Yep, he signed his apartment number, not his name. He didn’t knock on my door and hand me the note in person, he taped it there. Again .

Two can play this childish game. I sent a note back.

You know nothing. I like watching Animal Planet. Now stop stalking me!

Note 5:

Maybe we got off on the wrong foot. I’m not a jerk or a stalker. Just a guy who appreciates the rules. Animal Planet doesn’t sound like that. I know what I know. I don’t want to turn you in, but I will if I have to.

-A4

P.S. Again, NOT a stalker, just don’t like giving out my name to strangers.

He knows nothing.

Okay, he might know something, because I do indeed have a dog in here. But he doesn’t know that he actually knows. I’m certain.

I’m always so careful with Noel. I am mega discreet when I take her out—I always use the back door while the rest of the building uses the front. Sure, Mrs. Bell saw her once—only once—and she gushed over my girl. I think she thought she was one of my dog-walking clients.

The only way this guy knows for sure is if he’s tracking me with cameras and microphones and other uber-creepy things. Which, at this point, I wouldn’t put past him.

There are only twelve apartments in this building, and he’s told me which one he’s in. I need to get a peek at him so I can accidentally trip him or spill doggy bath water on him. Maybe that water will spill on him when he’s standing right next to the Christmas lights the owner strung up all over the apartment building. That way he’ll accidentally be electrocuted as well.

Whoa—Bonnie, too far.

I’m not the violent type. I’m the peace-loving type. But today—twelve days before Christmas, the happiest time of the year—he’s sent note number six .

Dear Miss Miller,

And —my name. How does he know my name? Did he steal a key to my mailbox and go through my letters or something?

This is your last warning. You have a dog. I’ve heard it multiple times. Remove the animal before Christmas, or I will be forced to call Mrs. Elliot.

Sincerely,

E.J. Eaton

And now I have his name.