The crisp subtle smell of the park shaded by oak trees was still present in Annabel’s cobalt-blue sweater.
As she walked through her apartment’s tiny kitchen, the weight felt cozy and the smell served as a constant silent reminder of the man upstairs.
She had already taken a shower, the hot water removing the emotional strain of the morning with Carson and the last of the night’s weariness.
She was now standing by the coffee maker listening to the dark liquid drip into the glass carafe.
The only sound in the otherwise silent apartment was the soft gurgle.
But there was no silence in her mind. A tiny warm spark the first thought that came to mind was of Fred.
She could still feel his shoulder under her cheek firm and immobile like a bedrock.
It was overwhelming in its quiet kind
