It's rickety, this elevator. An old one, with mechanical doors looking like cages.
And when it halts on the fifth floor of her building, he saunters in, arms overflowing with a box of jars.
And really, she can't hold back such curiosity.
"Why so many jars?"
He turns to her, hazel brown eyes defined by fierce brows. "I throw them at trespassing children."
"What?"
"Doesn't understand sarcasm, okay..."
"Geez, I was just asking! You don't have to be rude. You don't even have to tell me."
Beat.
The elevator dings.
"Roses," he says, stepping out. "I use them for roses."
