Chapter 1, Mark
Mark and Sarah had moved into the third story brick apartment a little over two months ago. Smack dab on the corner of a quiet street in a sleepy town, the apartment seemed the perfect starter home for the newlyweds, while they saved money to buy a house of their own.
The night they moved in, with both sets of their parents along to survey the digs and measure for curtains, Mark had barely noticed the blonde neighbor on the opposite balcony. He vaguely remembered her being on the phone, gently breathing in a cigarette while she wandered circles on the small deck. Behind her he could make out what looked like a small kitchen - sink, refrigerator, the appliances made sense for the room.
It wasn't until later in the week that his attention was drawn completely to the apartment across the way. He had been casually looking out the glass door of their porch, surveying the neighborhood. It was dusk, and a set of string lights draped across twin bakers racks on the opposite balcony blinked on. There was maybe a foot of darkness in the line, where a series of lights had gone dead. His eyes flicked from the lights to the rest of the porch; dozens of pots filled with dirt lined the tall metal racks, awaiting spring and their new occupants. Two red Adirondack chairs parked against the right side railing, flanked by a short metal table currently being used as an ashtray - he could make out a handful of butts lying inside the short lip of its exterior. From the looks of it, she was a frequent, but light smoker; not a single butt was smoked completely to the end. Why doesn't she put some sand in that? He thought absently to himself.
Just as he was losing interest, the blonde entered the frame of view created by the sliding glass door. She reached into a cabinet above the sink and pulled down a short green glass. Turning to the other side of the kitchen, she bent to a small square fridge housed under a metal counter of sorts, and pulled out a green box. She pushed a finger into the spigot and filled the glass two-thirds of the way with a clear yellow-ish liquid (wine, obviously) and returned the box to the fridge. She paused, left hand resting on the metal counter, the other holding the glass of wine, and gazed out in his general direction. She was wearing not one stitch of clothing.
Mark flinched and pulled back from his window, hoping the blonde hadn't seen him. He wasn't the type to look at nudie magazines or visit strip clubs, and he certainly wasn't the type to spy on pretty nude neighbors. Sure, Mark was a red blooded man like any other, but he loved his new wife, and had a deep respect for women and their privacy. Catching the blonde having a private moment in her kitchen filled him with guilt and embarrassment; he had expressed little interest in picking out curtains in general (blinds would have been fine...), but was suddenly filled with eagerness to get them hung so he could shut out the view of next door. A flash of panic washed over him as he thought of what Sarah would think of this new development, and he quickly turned away from the door and retreated into the living room.
The night they moved in, with both sets of their parents along to survey the digs and measure for curtains, Mark had barely noticed the blonde neighbor on the opposite balcony. He vaguely remembered her being on the phone, gently breathing in a cigarette while she wandered circles on the small deck. Behind her he could make out what looked like a small kitchen - sink, refrigerator, the appliances made sense for the room.
It wasn't until later in the week that his attention was drawn completely to the apartment across the way. He had been casually looking out the glass door of their porch, surveying the neighborhood. It was dusk, and a set of string lights draped across twin bakers racks on the opposite balcony blinked on. There was maybe a foot of darkness in the line, where a series of lights had gone dead. His eyes flicked from the lights to the rest of the porch; dozens of pots filled with dirt lined the tall metal racks, awaiting spring and their new occupants. Two red Adirondack chairs parked against the right side railing, flanked by a short metal table currently being used as an ashtray - he could make out a handful of butts lying inside the short lip of its exterior. From the looks of it, she was a frequent, but light smoker; not a single butt was smoked completely to the end. Why doesn't she put some sand in that? He thought absently to himself.
Just as he was losing interest, the blonde entered the frame of view created by the sliding glass door. She reached into a cabinet above the sink and pulled down a short green glass. Turning to the other side of the kitchen, she bent to a small square fridge housed under a metal counter of sorts, and pulled out a green box. She pushed a finger into the spigot and filled the glass two-thirds of the way with a clear yellow-ish liquid (wine, obviously) and returned the box to the fridge. She paused, left hand resting on the metal counter, the other holding the glass of wine, and gazed out in his general direction. She was wearing not one stitch of clothing.
Mark flinched and pulled back from his window, hoping the blonde hadn't seen him. He wasn't the type to look at nudie magazines or visit strip clubs, and he certainly wasn't the type to spy on pretty nude neighbors. Sure, Mark was a red blooded man like any other, but he loved his new wife, and had a deep respect for women and their privacy. Catching the blonde having a private moment in her kitchen filled him with guilt and embarrassment; he had expressed little interest in picking out curtains in general (blinds would have been fine...), but was suddenly filled with eagerness to get them hung so he could shut out the view of next door. A flash of panic washed over him as he thought of what Sarah would think of this new development, and he quickly turned away from the door and retreated into the living room.
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