<i>'Is this girl really saying this?'<br/>
</i><br/>If Charlotte could have seen him through the peep hole, she would probably have laughed. In his mind, all he could think of was 'who brings cookies to someone who you hit with your car?' He paused for a few moments, trying to figure out what in the blazing hell was actually happening. Ethan might have considered it a trap; the way she smiled lead him to wonder if she was being sincere or just trying to get inside the door. She had given her name, which he could not imagine any Montgomery doing outside of high society, and maybe not even then. On the other hand, he did recognize the first name. Charlotte was the black sheep of the family, and certainly not someone he would suspect to make any threats or, god help her, try to kill him. Finally Ethan shrugged and unlocked the door.<br/><br/>The door slid open just as he began to step back. It was dark inside his apartment, the only real light source being the television. The blinds had been pulled to block out the sun, and no other lights inside the apartment were running. While it was clean, it bore the smell of time, to which he had become nose blind. If he were aware of it, he probably would have said that it reminded him of his grandmother's house, still clean but raked by age. It was an open-concept space, with a small island in the kitchen, a trio of bar stools, a sofa, a chair, and a coffee table. The walls were cream colored which blended in with the colored cement floor.<br/><br/>"A Montgomery in my home. I'd curtsy, but i'm just so darned afraid of my dress touching a poor guy's floor." Ethan scoffed, setting his bottle of whiskey on the counter. Idly he patted his pockets looking for a pack of cigarettes that did not exist, and when he didn't find it, he sighed softly. "So what kind of person seeks out the guy whose head dented their car... with cookies of all things. I'd have been fine to just never see any of you again."