Page 47 of A Matter of Time

What was the correct response to that?

He went up in front of me, took my keys, and opened the door. “Are you fuckin’ kidding me?” he asked when the door swung open to reveal a wall and stairs to the left.

“What now?”

He stepped sideways to look at me. “You can’t even see up these.”

When I’d moved out after living with my many roommates, I had gotten my own studio apartment, which I’d lived in for the past two years. It had been converted from an attic to a residence. To make a separate entrance, the owner had basically made a hole in the side of the wall leading up to the very top floor under the roof. There was, however, no room for a door to open in, so it opened out, like a giant cabinet. The first thing you saw, because it was all that could fit, was a coat rack. There were eight stairs to the left that hugged the wall and emptied out into my small living room.

It was basically a small space where my TV and coffee table were against one wall and the kitchen sink was on the other. I could wash dishes under a small round window that looked out on the backyard, the stove had only one burner, and there was no shelf inside the oven. My tiny microwave sat on the only piece of counter space in the apartment and the one cupboard was above that. My kitchen table was a card table, and my friend Ilise had sponge-painted over the flat black of the two chairs that went with it with gold. It looked odd, but I liked it. My queen-size mattress and box spring sat on the floor instead of in a bed frame, so I was constantly lining them back up when they moved. A bed frame was near the top of my list of things to buy. The down comforter had been my Christmas present to myself, and just looking at it made me want to change and get under it.

“Okay, I get it. You live in a tiny studio apartment.” Detective Kage blew out a breath. “And you live alone.”

“Yeah,” I said flippantly. “What was your first clue?”

And he laid into me about how I would never know if someone was coming up the inside stairs, let alone those on the outside. I made the mistake of rolling my eyes, and he grabbed ahold of my sweater and yanked me forward so we were face-to-face.

“This place is a joke, Jory. Anybody with a paper clip could get in here.”

“I disagree.”

“You disagree?” He raised his eyebrows. “Because you know everything about breaking and entering.”

“Calm down,” I told him. “Have some tea.”

“I don’t want any fuckin’ tea, I want⁠—”

“Why have you been following me around?”

“What?” he barked, but already I was getting hopeful again. He obviously liked me, didn’t mind my company, and was purposely baiting me to stay and argue.

“You heard me.”

“You’re my goddamn witness, you fuckin’ idiot.”

“Yes, but it’s more. Everywhere I go, there you are.”

“That’s bullshit. I’m just protecting⁠—”

“Sit down and stop swearing,” I murmured.

“I don’t wanna sit down! I don’t want tea…” He trailed off.

I smiled at him because I knew I was right. He might not know what he wanted, but I did. “Sit. I’ll make the tea.”

“Where the fuck am I supposed to do that? All these chairs will buckle under my weight.”

And they might. They were not sturdy at all. “On the bed.”

“I can’t sit on your bed.”

“Yes, you can,” I murmured. “Pull down the comforter, then sit.”

“I don’t want tea,” he stated for the third time, muttering as he flung the comforter to the side before finally sitting.

I filled the kettle with water but left it on top of the microwave before I walked back to stand over him. He looked up slowly, and when I stepped between his legs, he didn’t say a word.

“Take off your coat.”