Noah
The apartment door took three tries to open because my fingers wouldn't stop shaking.
When the key finally clicked and the lock turned, I pushed the heavy wood open and stepped back, holding the door for my mother.
She walked past me into the narrow entryway, her heels clicking sharply against the linoleum.
She didn't drop her bags immediately.
Instead, she turned around completely, her sharp dark eyes fixing on my face, starting the kind of thorough inspection only a mother who had watched me grow up could manage.
It was the look she gave me whenever she knew I was hiding something.
"I thought you said you were out for a run," she said, her voice dry and carrying that thin edge of maternal authority.
"I was," I said, trying to keep my voice flat and even.
Her gaze dropped from my face, taking in the rest of me.
She looked at the leather loafers on my feet.
