The walk to my apartment was silent. I kept a cautious distance, my heart thudding in time with my steps. What if I’d made a mistake? What if he wasn’t as harmless as he seemed?
Once inside, I handed him a towel and a stack of old clothes: oversized sweatpants and a faded T-shirt that had belonged to an ex.
“The shower’s through there,” I said, pointing down the hall. “I’ll make us dinner while you’re cleaning up.”
He nodded and disappeared into the bathroom.
As the sound of running water filled the apartment, I busied myself in the kitchen. The weight of my decision pressed down on me as I chopped tomatoes and onions.
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