He closed the door behind her, and slowly replaced the locks and chain, drawing out his movements a little to delay the inevitable conversation they would have. Delay her eventually storming out and promising to never speak to him again once she heard his explanation.
Turning back to her with a grim look, he cast his eyes around his uncharacteristically untidy apartment, takeout cartons littering the coffee table, clothes strewn over the sofa, and was about to apologise for the mess when she spoke again. She probably hadn't even noticed, he thought with dry humour.
What she was saying was encouraging though, his eyebrows lifting hopefully and his hands hanging by his sides, instead of crossed over his chest or shoved into his pockets. She believed that he'd had a reason. It was just a matter of how he could tell her that reason without revealing the piece of information that had got him into this mess of a situation in the first place. "I did have a reason," he assured her, hands lifting in front of him, palms up as though he were holding a football. Then they clasped together nervously.
"Do you want to sit?" he offered, walking a slightly wide berth around her to uncover the sofa, push some of the takeaway cartons to one end of the table so that it was somewhat clear.