Page 15 of The Landlord
"Craftsmanship? Skill developed over years? Unique design? Materials selected with care?"
I grunt in acknowledgment. "Fair point."
She kisses me quickly before sitting up. "I need coffee before I film today's tutorial."
"Tutorial?" I follow her out of bed, grabbing a pair of sweatpants from the floor.
"The chunky blanket I've been planning all week. Should bring in about five thousand new views, if the analytics from my last tutorial are anything to go by. People love all things cozy."
I watch her pull on my discarded t-shirt from last night. Something primal stirs in my chest seeing her in my clothes (whoever said that quote about a man's shirt on a woman is like a flag on a conquered fortress is absolutely right). In my space. How quickly she's become a fixture here, her presence transforming my apartment from just a place I live in to something that feels like a real home.
In the kitchen, I start the coffee while Alyssa feeds Doug, who dances excitedly around her feet. The little traitor now treats her like she's the one who rescued him from that parking lot three years ago.
"He loves you more than me now," I say, measuring coffee grounds.
"That's because I don't make him eat that terrible dry food." She scratches behind Doug's ears as he attacks his breakfast. "And I knitted him a sweater."
"He's a dog. He has fur."
"He gets cold! He shivers!"
"He's manipulating you." I pour water into the machine. "He shivers when he wants attention."
"Well, it works." She stands and wraps her arms around my waist from behind, resting her cheek against my back. "Works on you too."
I can't argue with that. The first time I found Doug, a tiny shivering ball of fur and attitude in the parking lot, I intended to take him to the shelter. Then he looked at me with those big eyes, trembling pathetically, and next thing I knew I was buying dog food and a bed.
We move around the kitchen with an ease that feels like we've been doing this for years instead of weeks. She pulls out mugs while I grab the cream. I reach for plates as she opens the refrigerator. No words needed, just the comfortable rhythm of two people learning to occupy the same space.
After breakfast, Alyssa heads back to her apartment to set up for filming. I spend the morning sanding down a headboard commission, but find myself drifting across the hall more than once. I tell myself it's to check on Doug, who's decided Alyssa's apartment is his second home, but really, I just like watching her work.
Whatever obsession I had before has snowballed into something deeper and more intense. I'm so screwed, and I fucking love it.
I'm about to suggest we take a longer break when Doug starts barking by the terrace.
"What's his problem?" Alyssa asks as I set her aside to investigate.
I peer down at the street below. A delivery guy in a brown uniform stands near the entrance, checking something on his phone. Something about him seems off, but I can't place what.
"Delivery," I say, frowning. "Though Doug usually only barks at the ones who actually ring the buzzer."
Alyssa joins me at the window. "That's weird. I'm not expecting anything today."
I watch as the guy paces a small circle, repeatedly glancing up at the building. His uniform doesn't quite fit right—too loose in the shoulders, too short in the sleeves. And he's been there for several minutes without approaching the door.
That's when I realize something. "Third time I've seen this guy this week."
"Really?" Alyssa squints down. "I haven't noticed him."
"Because you don't usually keep an eye on non-tenants entering and leaving the building." I keep my eyes on the man as he steps closer to our building entrance, then backs away again. "He keeps looking up at the windows."
"Maybe he's just checking the address?"
"For five minutes straight?" I shake my head. "Something's not right."
"Damien..." Alyssa's voice holds a note of concern.
"I'm going down there." I'm already moving toward the door, instincts on high alert. "Stay up here."
