Page 32 - Anonymous
P. 32
casserole in the oven and set it to two
hundred and twenty degrees.
Whoever it is knocks again. There's
a hint of underlying impatience. I place
the dishtowel I'm holding on the counter,
then take twenty steps from my kitchen to
the front door. I count to twenty-one,
until I'm standing in front of it.
“Who is it?” I disengage the security
latch, my fingers trembling. I suck in a
breath, releasing slowly.
