The buzzer rang three times, the pattern he had used since he was young enough to believe that ringing more often made a door open faster.

I almost let him in without thinking.

Then I remembered that I had changed the locks and that the new keys were in my pocket.

I opened the door myself.

“I brought the good coffee,” he said.

“The hazelnut you like.”

A loaf of bread stood above one bag.

He looked tired.