“Nice view.”
“Shush.”
“My thoughts are your thoughts of my thoughts. You can tell by the change in accent.”
“Hey.” In a squat and leaning forward, his butt aimed Warwick’s way, 11-B suddenly turned at the waist to glance back. “Sorry about—”
Warwick tried to shut his door. Rudeness? Discomfort about being caught snooping? Embarrassment about his state of undress? It mattered not, because the door wouldn’t close. An applesauce jar had rolled across the floor and lodged itself at the threshold.
“I believe this is yours.” Warwick picked it up.
“Thank you. I heard the door squeak.” The noisy neighbor held out his hand, presenting it nowhere near Warwick’s or the jar.
“You heard me?” Warwick asked. That was rich. He squatted to get closer and placed the jar in the hand of the handsome st
