As a general rule, Forrest didn't skulk around his apartment, unless absolutely necessary. He preferred keeping busy, in whatever way he could. That evening, it just so happened he was keeping busy by fixing a leak in the faucet. When he heard the knock on his door, he was under the sink, sleeves rolled up and a wrench in hand. He might've left it unanswered, if not for the sound of her voice drifting softly through the room.

Climbing to his feet, he wiped damp hands on the handkerchief hanging from his pocket.

He'd gotten more than enough practice in being alone with her, but in the confines of this apartment, without the possibility of customers and kinfolk traipsing in and out, it took on a different tone. An intimacy, perhaps, if he'd been the type to think such things.

Which he wasn't.

Opening the door for her, he said, "Maggie," and with a glance at the basket in her hands, added, "Whatchu got there?"