Now you are standing at his door, looking for the bell. It is a large steel sliding door on the upper floor of an old warehouse downtown. Clearly, Davids studio is in a loft. You finally just knock on the door. A moment later, the door slides open and light from the hall spills across a hardwood floor. The studio is dimly lit and you cant see anyone there.
"Hold on, let me get the lights," you hear a voice say. Suddenly, bright overhead lights come on, exposing the entire loft. You walk in and look around. David is standing there, smiling.
"You must be Trish," he says.
"Uh, yeah. You must be David," you reply, slightly uncomfortable.
David is about six feet tall, a good eight inches taller than you. He has short black curly hair and a young but weatherbeaten face that has crinkles at the eyes and mouth. You can tell that he laughs a lot. He has a well toned and muscled body; you can see his wide chest straining at the black commandos sweater hes wearing. He has on a baggy pair of black fatigue trousers. His bare feet even look strong; his toes grip the floor as he walks.
The loft studio is much nicer than you expected, given the looks of the building outside. The front of the loft is obviously Davids apartment. The kitchen is set aside from the rest of the room by a wrap-around countertop. It sits to the right of the door. The door itself is halfway between the front and back walls. The furniture is comfortable and modern. There is a long couch that surrounds a coffee table in front of a fireplace. The... Läs hela novellen
