Mary stood in the hall outside of his apartment, a nondescript plastic bag dangling loosely from the fingers of one hand, and a familiar cookbook tucked tightly under the arm of the other, feeling woefully ill-equipped to face down her personal dragon of the day: the doorknocker.
Despite her struggle to verbalize it, the older lady at the front desk had listened to her question with surprising patience, kindly informing the timid young woman where to find what she was looking for.
First floor, Room D104 Ellery, Vaughn
She checked, and double checked, then checked again for good measure-- but the numbers unequivocally matched up, and the staff member’s clean, efficient rendering of the occupant’s name confirmed it. Her mouth moved silently over his surname, eliciting a little skip of her already accelerated heartbeat. It was pleasing, almost pretty to her inner ear, and rolled easily off the tongue. Mary loved words, more than anything, even if she had a poor command of them off of paper.
The thermos she brought from home would only keep its contents warm for so long; she couldn’t just stand here forever... could she? Slipping the scrap of paper with his address into her pocket, Mary inhaled deeply, steeling herself.
(Would he have forgiven her for running away...?)
With bated breath, she grasped the knocker, and gave the door two gentle raps.
