A Gentle Knuckle Tap

I slipped away from the mail lobby and took the elevator back up to our floor, my sneakers making soft, hushed squeaks along the quiet carpet runner. Reaching our apartment door, I hopped onto the bristly fiber welcome mat, leaning one hip against the dark painted frame. The lower brass lock cylinder was catching the warm amber hallway sconce just right. Tucking my thumb into my waistband, I gave the cool brass plate two deliberate, rhythmic taps with my knuckles. It felt playfully satisfying waiting right outside, knowing my little evening stroll had brought me straight back to our door.