Down the hall a baby cried and she could hear a woman talking to soothe it. From somewhere else, a television blared. Someone coughed. All the familiar sounds of home. Mason closed the door behind him and looked around. His absorption made her more acutely aware of her modest dwelling than usual. While her lack of money was evident, she’d made attempts to turn a hovel into a home. She wondered if he noticed the artsy lamp-shade she’d picked up at a flea market, or the small glass vase with a single flower on the table. Going into her bedroom, she removed her coat, covertly eyeing Mason. He removed his jacket and draped it over the arm of the sofa. Hanging her coat up in the tiny closet, she saw him wander over to the window in the living room. It had a pretty good view of the city. Looking down, he saw the Christmas cards on her desk. He picked them up and leafed through them. Something about seeing him do that pricked her. She didn’t know why. Maybe it was too personal, maybe it mattered too much what he thought.
