Dressed To The Nones

Maya likes having the place to herself. She stretches across her bed in nothing but a thin bra and cotton panties, bare legs hooked over the sheets. Her roommate is gone for the day, and the quiet feels like stolen time. Then the knock comes. She opens the door expecting the mail guy, but the box is wedged between the wall and the stair rail, just beyond reach. She steps out, grabs it, and the door clicks shut. No keys. No phone. Only a brown parcel in her hands and the hallway stretching empty in both directions. She bolts for the café next door, box held low against her hips. The bell above the door jingles. Behind the counter, Casey looks up from wiping the steamer wand and freezes. Her eyes move from Maya’s bare thighs to the parcel, then back to the flush across Maya’s chest. Maya sets the box on the counter, breath short. Casey’s mouth opens, closes, then opens again. Neither of them laughs. Maya’s fingers tighten on the edge of the cardboard; Casey’s hand stays on the cloth, knuckles white. The machine behind them hisses steam into the small room.