She was as good as his—she just didn’t know it yet. All he needed to do now was be patient, bide his time…

Unfortunately, patience wasn’t one of Milton’s better virtues. And it was hard to be patient when you were crammed into a small walk-in closet with no light and little air. He squirmed, trying to find a better position, but the closet was crammed full of clothes, wispy blouses that stuck to his mouth and scratchy jeans that grazed his cheek. Milton extricated a scarf from around his arm and froze, suddenly hearing the unmistakable sound of a key turning in the lock. Heels could then be heard clicking across the living room and down the hall.

“Hi, honey, I’m ho-ome!” she sang, her pure voice ringing out like a bell. Milton’s hands were beginning to sweat now.

“Come on, man, get a hold of yourself,” he berated himself, wiping his hands on his pants.

The heels click-clacked into the bedroom. Milton could see her silhouette through the chinks in the closet door, could almost smell her perfume.