The sounds of children laughing and chatting neighbors echo through the stairwell. Rows upon rows of cookies and lemon bars sit atop Mara's kitchen counter, cooling to the perfect temperature to be delivered to the Easter party. After hours of debating with herself about the number of people that would be in attendance, she finally decides it's better to be safe than sorry and bakes twice as much as she'll actually need.

Her face, while marked with white flour and powdered sugar, is also flush and damp with sweat from hard work. Hard work that helped her briefly escape her neuroses and crippling insecurities. Just as she begins to feel a sense of vindication, an all-too-familiar name flashes across the screen of her cellphone.

"Robert," she reads aloud. Her thumb hovers over the answer key. "No..." she whispers to herself, ignoring the call and placing the device in the back pocket of her jeans. As she steps out to deliver her first round of desserts, a bright-colored spot in the potting soil of the plant outside her front door catches her attention — an intricately painted Easter egg.

The design is mesmerizing. Brown speckled tones on the organic shell mix perfectly with the brick red of the artistic fowl. Teal and navy leaves and branches complement the earth tones while pops of white bring life to the image and bring her to her knees in admiration.

"Wow," she whispers, observing the artwork. Her eyes feel sore in the best way possible. She wants to take in every detail. Every perfectly chosen color. She places the egg back in the ceramic pot, soaking in one last look before heading to Betty's apartment. She takes every step down the stairs lightly and deliberately, trying her hardest not to break another floor board.

"Hello?" Mara says with a small knock on the familiar yellow door. With hardly any force, the door slowly creaks open, welcoming her into the quaint apartment without words. Only the high-pitched sound of the entrance.

"Mara, dear!" Betty walks to the front as fast as her frail bones will allow. Her tired, yet lively, voice reminds Mara of her own grandmother's. One she hasn't heard in years.

"I brought some desserts!" Proud of her contribution, Mara holds her tray of goodies in front of her before placing it on the dining table next to deviled eggs, egg rolls, quiches, and a plethora of other delicacies brought by the guests.

"Look at how sweet you are." Betty places a peck on Mara's cheek and wraps her arms around her tenant. Warmth exudes from Betty's body.

"Is there anything I can help with?"

"Maybe you could help our Easter Bunny? I think he's being accosted by a gaggle of kids out there. Poor guy. Happens to him every year."

Mara gives an understanding smile and walks out to what may very well be the most adorable sight she's ever witnessed. Toddlers crowd around the hare, tickling, pinching and pulling at the man inside the costume.

"Hey, kids!" Mara yells at the harassers. "Free cookies! Right through there." She points at Betty's door and the kids promptly follow her direction. Finally free, the rabbit stands. "Hey, Harry."

"How'd you know it was me?" His muffled British accent asks from the other side of the mask.

"Lucky guess. I've always wanted to meet the Easter Bunny. I thought you didn't exist."

Harry gives a solemn nod and walks away. She questions what she must have done to elicit such a reaction from him. Maybe it was the multiple broken stairs or the awkward run in at the laundry room. No matter the reason, the thought of someone clearly so sweet disliking her makes her body ache with embarrassment. The word "sorry" plays over and over again in her head, as she silently wishes she can telepathically send the message to Harry. She never wanted to be an inconvenience or a chore to a family so willing to take her in at her darkest time.

These weren't Harry's thoughts, however. The sad joy in her face intimated him. Someone so unusually and endearingly sweet, other than his own grandmother, made him anxious. While Mara believes he's completely disinterested, the beads of sweat collecting inside his polyester costume would say otherwise. He didn't want her to witness his fidgeting or nervous mannerisms. From the outside, one wouldn't notice he had been glancing at her through the dark-netted eyeholes of the costume since she first descended from the stairs.

Pastel confetti sprays in front of her face in slow motion as Harry continues to play with the few children that decided the complimentary sugar wasn't enough to keep them away from playing.

Mara spends the next few hours watching over the guests decorating eggs and coloring copies of the invitational flyer Betty put together for the event. Harry's interactions with the kids, shooting party poppers and helping with the egg hunt, bring a wide grin to her face. Prior to meeting him and his grandma, Mara gave up hope that people like them actually exist. People that do everything in their power to bring joy and enrich others' lives. People with genuine, selfless hearts. Before them, she was convinced she was alone in the world, constantly helping others and drowning in a sea of unappreciated apologies.

A black trash bag hangs from Mara's hands, filled to the brim with plastic cups and dirty paper plates. The sound of children's laughter and chitter chatter has been replaced with silence, save the loud scooting of Betty's feet as she comes down the stairs.

"Thanks for everything, Betty," Mara says, helping Betty down to the bottom floor.

"Can't make my way up and down these steps like I used to." Betty struggles to catch her breath.

"Hey, at least you do better than me. I swear I'm cursed when it comes to these things." Mara points to the mismatched stair Harry had to fix as a result of her clumsiness. "Is there anything else I can do before I head back up?"

Betty clutches her chest, winded and pale in color. Mara's eyes widen with worry. She clutches onto Betty's arms tighter than before to prevent her from falling to the ground.

"Gran, you okay?" Harry rushes to the other side of his grandmother to help Mara keep her standing. He no longer wears the Easter Bunny head, revealing his disheveled stringy curls, pushed back with sweat from his hard day of work entertaining the party guests. The arms of the costume are wrapped around his waist, and instead wears a snuggly-fit white v-neck t-shirt. The furry white legs remain, however, now dirty with cupcake frosting and egg dye. "Let me help you to bed."

"Mara, dear. Do you mind helping Harry finish up cleaning tonight? I don't think I have it in me."

"Of course. Goodnight, Betty. Thank you again!" Mara's words trail behind Betty and Harry as he escorts her back into her apartment. Harry returns to find Mara sweeping confetti and trash, humming a tune to herself.

"You don't have to do that," Harry says, grabbing the broom from her hand. "I got it."

"Did I do something?" she asks, confused by what she must have done to make Harry act angry with her. She racks her brain. Was it the multiple broken steps? Maybe he has a girlfriend who was supposed to move into the apartment she ended up taking? Did she mess up the lemon bars?

"Whad'ya mean?" Harry looks at her, brows furrowed, confused by why she felt it necessary to ask such a question.

"Why won't you let me help? And earlier you kind of... I don't know... blew me off when I tried to talk to you." It's unlike her to elicit confrontation, no matter how small the confrontation may be. She's accustomed to feeling disrespected, even though she's near positive this isn't Harry's intent in this moment.

"Sorry," he says with a dangerously charming smile and gives her the broom back. He understands how his shyness may come off to someone unfamiliar with the type of person he is. Again, he wasn't used to someone being as caring as Mara.

They spend the next few minutes, sweeping debris and wiping sugary messes, in complete silence. That is until he finally feels comfortable enough to speak up.

"So..." His voice cracks from lack of use. "What do you do?"

"Me?" Mara's thrown off by her usually-silent super's attempt to start a conversation. She immediately feels silly for questioning whether or not he's actually speaking to her. "Of course me. Sorry. I mean not 'of course me' like of course you want to talk to me." Harry can't help but smile as drivel pours out of her mouth and she continues. "There's no one else here though, so of course you're talking to me. I'm rambling. I'm sorry. Anyways. I work at Penguin Group."

"What do you do there?" Harry nods and grabs a dustpan. Without words, he kneels down and she instinctually sweeps the dust, egg shells and food remnants into the pan.

"I'm a junior editor, which basically means I read a lot." She scoffs at the oversimplification of her job.

He remembers all the times he's seen her reading or with a book in her hand. The time she mindlessly retrieved her mail while her eyes remained locked on the pages in front of her. When she bumped into him in the hallway and didn't realize because she was so distracted trying to keep her stack of novels steady in her arms. All the while, she's been completely unaware of his silent observing.

"Makes sense. D'you like it?" he asks, grabbing a rag. She automatically snatches a spray bottle and throws it to him to perfectly catch. Neither of them acknowledge their seamlessly silent teamwork.

"I guess. I love to read, so." She shrugs. "Do you like to read?"

"To grandmum, yeh. Hard for her to see the pages now."

"It's really sweet that you do that for her. You two seem really close," she comments while pulling her hair back into a ponytail. Harry nods in response, admiring how her long brown hair cascades down her back, and she continues. "She cracks me up. Reminds me a lot of my grandmother, actually."

"Where's your grandmum?"

"I... I'm... I'm not exactly sure." The tone of Mara's voice turns melancholy and Harry fears he overstepped his boundaries. There's something so sweet about the sad look on her face though. Her eyes, while filled with gloom and sorrow, also show hints of hopefulness. He wants nothing more than to tell her she's not alone in her loneliness.

"We make a good team," Mara comments. Harry drops his blushing face and places the cleaning supplies in a nearby bin. Amid the awkward lull in their conversation, they realize the floor is near spotless and all the trash has been bagged. "Can I help you carry all of that?"

Keeping in mind the reaction he received before when he declined her help, he quickly nods and accepts her assistance before leading the way to his apartment.

The two walk down a dim hallway to a small set of stairs which lead to a nook below street level. Mara's nerves begin to build as she realizes she's being led to a dark corner of the building by a near stranger. She's always been very trusting, albeit naive, but Harry's comforting aura tells her she's okay.

"Wait here," Harry instructs. They come to a shadowed doorway. After Harry steps in, she steps closer to observe the painted artwork on the entryway. Vibrant shades of red radiate, even through the darkness of the hallway. In the middle of the wood is a wonderfully detailed depiction of a rooted tree. Hypnotized by the painting's beauty, she places the tub of cleaning supplies down and runs her fingers across the raised acrylic. The moment reminds her of when she found the hidden easter egg, but to the Nth degree.

"Shit!" She yells as the door swings open. Harry stands on the other side of the threshold, wearing a pair of baggy black sweatpants and the same white v-neck as before. His chest heaves with short breaths, caused by the flurry of cleaning he attempted when he and Mara arrived mere minutes ago.

The scenery behind him catches her attention almost immediately. Glistening trinkets glow in the dimly lit apartment. Tables covered, edge-to-edge, with shiny pieces of tile. Stacks of old records and vintage TVs line the back wall, hit by a small spotlight of sun from his tiny basement window facing the street. Windchimes made of beach glass and canvased easels, both blank and painted, scatter through the large open floor plan. It's as though she's been transported to a crystal cave. Dark and dreary, while also gorgeous and alluring.

"This... this is your place?" She struggles to find her words.

"Yeah..." Harry scratches the back of his head, embarrassed by what she must think of his apartment. To him it's dirty and dim. But, to her it was like an unknown planet, untouched by human, begging to be explored. "I ought to check on Betty now." He drags the tub of cleaning products into his apartment and shuts the door before heading back up to the complex's main floor. She shakes her head, pulling her from her stupor and follows quickly behind.

"Mara?" His voice halts her journey up the main staircase. She turns to find Harry, red and smiling. "Thank... um... thank you..."

"No problem, Harry. I'll see you around?"

He approves with a giant grin and she continues her way back to her apartment.