The tiny house, built in the 1890's, between two similar looking houses but that’s where the similarities end, appearance only.
She walked out, her hand wrapped in his. "A porch swing would look so great, right here," she said as she pulled her hand from his and gestured to the nook on the front porch that begged to be filled with something. He agreed and mumbled something about an A.C. unit and putting in real A.C. but she really wasn't paying attention.
She was looking at the little window; the window that seemed so randomly placed. It didn't make sense. Admittedly it gave it charm, when seen but it was never really seen and it was never really used.
But she noticed the window and because she noticed it, she felt it was used. But the door blocked it from really being used and looking in nothing could be seen. She smiled over the window. To her it showed that the house had a little something, a little extra.
And the house had something extra but it wasn't something she would be smiling about.
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