Chapter Six
Oliver
I rush out of the studio after work, happy to resume my newly acquired interest in investigation. And absolutely not because Matt agreed to come with me.
I contemplate having dinner before knocking on Matt's door, but the excitement wins out. I quickly drop my bag off and put cupcakes on a disposable plate before I’m standing across the hall. He opens as soon as I knock, this time wearing a T-shirt.
I thank all the gods up there for small mercies. But the mercy is small, indeed, because his grey T-shirt clings to his muscles for dear life. It highlights the sharp cut of his abs, leaving nothing to the imagination.
His smile now looks natural, considering he started doling them out to me so generously only a few days ago.
“Ready, detective?” he asks.
“When am I ever not, big guy?”
He snorts and closes his door behind him. “Does that mean you’re the lead on this case?”
“You know it! Now, be a nice assistant and follow my lead,” I wink.
We walk to the elevator. He tries to take a sharp right for the stairs. I give him the stink eye, and he follows me silently to the elevator.
The space suddenly feels tight with his large body taking up most of it. I've been on this elevator with at least four people at a time. When did it become so small? I fidget in place as the elevator slowly ascends. I sigh audibly when the doors open.
I don't look back at Matt, worried he might read my very horny, very inappropriate thoughts.
I beeline to Dalton’s apartment first, in case he’s back. But no one opens the door again, so we knock on the door exactly opposite to Beck’s and wait for someone to open the door.
“I know the woman who lives here,” Matt says.
“Marge? Yeah. Nice woman. She’s pretty open to conversation about her neighbors,” I reply slyly.
“Oliver, are you politely implying the woman is a busybody?” Matt asks, amused.
“Shhhh,” I shush, trying to listen for footsteps. Marge has sharp ears for an old lady.
Matt huffs out a laugh.
“Okay, kinda,” I admit.
“She’s a gossiping menace, is what she is,” he says in a normal voice.
I glare at him. I know he doesn’t talk to everyone in the building, but you can’t just go around talking shit about people… at least, not where just anyone can hear. For fuck’s sake!
But he’s not wrong. Oh, old Marge loves to talk.
I met her the day I moved in, and she interrogated me for our entire one-minute-forty-five-second elevator ride, collecting all my information.
She even suggested setting me up with one of the guys in the building, probably to hint that she’s okay with my sexuality.
How did she know my sexuality within thirty seconds of meeting me? I don’t need to know.
The next time was in the lobby while she was shouting at someone.
But as soon as she spotted me, she latched onto me to tell me about how fourth-floor Martha's niece hooked up with second-floor Susan. I tried to extricate myself to no avail and ended up knowing more about our neighbors than I’d bargained for.
For the last seven months, I’ve resorted to hiding whenever I spot her. I’ve ducked behind pillars and taken stairs. One time, I ducked behind a bush in shorts. Not a very happy day for my knees.
There’s no answer from the door. I knock again, this time louder. I’m volunteering my head on a silver platter, and Marge has suddenly decided she doesn’t want to talk? I knock again.
Matt looks at me with a small smile on his face, like he can read my thoughts. “Maybe we can try again tomorrow,” he suggests. “You must be tired after work.”
I look at him, confused. What’s up with this guy wanting me to sleep all the time? Unless he's implying he'd like to join me? Not that he ever would. I mean, look at him! I shake the idea from my head and frown. “Let's try another apartment.” I point to the door across from Dalton’s.
Matt mutters something under his breath. “Sure, let's go,” he says out loud.
This door opens after an acceptable amount of time. Melanie stands there in a cute pink crop top and yoga pants. Her hair is in a messy bun, and she has a little bit of flour on her forehead. Her kids sound like they’re starting up a storm in the living room.
“Who is it, Mom?” her oldest son calls out, joining her at the door. At seven, the kid’s already got a pretty mean glare going. But it’s focused on Matt, who honestly looks kinda scary with his permanent frown and general ‘guy who can benchpress a truck’ look.
“Ollie,” she smiles, giving me a quick hug. She essentially ignores the budding hatred developing in her periphery.
I bring out my plate of cupcakes to put the kid at ease. When he looks at them, the glare melts into a grin.
“Can I have one?” he asks his mother.
I offer the plate to him anyway. He takes one and runs inside.
“You’re Matt from the sixth floor, right?” She finally looks up… and farther up at Matt. “Didn’t know you bagged the hot playboy of the building, Ollie,” she says appreciatively.
I gasp and quickly shake my head. “Umm, no… It’s not… we just wanted to meet our neighbors,” I finally land on.
“Ooooh! That’s so nice of you! I barely ever talk to any adults after work. Don’t go having kids right away is all I’m saying,” she laughs. “Enjoy that beef buffet for as long as you can,” she whispers loudly, pointedly looking at Matt.
Matt chuckles. “We’re just neighbors,” I quickly clarify.
“Jeez, alright!” she placates. “Why don’t you guys come in?” She opens the door wider for us.
We walk inside to a living room, which is, to put it kindly, a mess. The kid with the glare sits on a flannel couch with his sister, who is currently trying to claw the cupcake out of his hand. He has it just out of her reach.
“Mama, I want cupcake,” she screeches when Melanie hurries towards them to stop a possible fight.
“I brought more,” I announce before the situation escalates.
“Only one before dinner,” Melanie chides. The girl happily takes one and goes to the corner of the room, where her toys are scattered everywhere. She plops down and drops the cupcake. She’s bawling before it hits the floor.
Melanie quickly hands her another. Disaster averted.
Yeah, no kids right away is sound advice.
“It was so nice of you boys to bring this over.” Melanie walks to the stove and starts stirring a pot of something. I couldn't guess what it is from the smell if my life depended on it.
We take this as an invitation to park our asses on the kitchen stools. I’m still a little dazed by the high-stress situation.
“So, how long have you been living in the building?” Matt asks, finally getting his voice back.
“Almost five years now. You've been here longer, haven't you?”
He nods. “Yeah, almost seven years.”
“And we’ve never talked,” she says, seeming genuinely surprised. “I’ve only ever heard about your existence from all of Ollie’s complaints—”
“So many residents here. So difficult to know everyone,” I interrupt.
“Like, I was just telling Matt, I’ve never once interacted with the man who lives across from you!
Dalton, was it?” I cut to the chase. It’s my responsibility as the lead on the case.
Matt has clearly taken being secondary to heart.
I ignore his confused look while I’m ahead.
Melanie freezes for a millisecond before going back to stirring.
“I ran into him a couple of times, but he wouldn’t even look at me,” I stress.
Matt leans forward, resting his elbows on the kitchen counter. “I heard he did a lot of D R U G S,” he says conspiratorily.
“I can spell drugs,” the seven-year-old shouts from the couch.
“Sorry,” Matt mouths to Melanie apologetically.
She waves him off. “Do you think he took drugs?” she asks, tilting her head.
“The few times that I ran into him, he looked out of it,” Matt replies confidently.
“You know that would explain a lot. The guy was so rude to my kids. Now that you say that, it's a good thing he didn't like them,” she frowns, adding some spice from a steel container to the brown sludge on the stove.
I suddenly realize I’ve lost control of the conversation. “So did you ever talk to the guy?”
“Not really. He moved in around two years ago.
One time, Benny asked him to play. He lost his shit and chased him away.
Benny was scared to even step into the hallway for an entire week.
After that, I avoided the guy like the plague.
Didn't let my kids go anywhere near that door,” she says, her eyes narrowing. “Or his visitors,” she adds.
“Did he have a lot of visitors?” Maybe he’s living with one of them right now.
“Probably other people he did drugs with,” Matt adds sagely.
Melanie perks up at his enthusiasm for gossip. “Maybe. I didn’t see them a lot. A couple of people visited him often. I avoided all of them. But, if you're talking about characters in the building, it's Marge you should worry about.” She gestures vaguely in the direction of Marge’s apartment.
“Is she not home?” I ask. Might as well get something useful out of this.
“Nah, I think she went to visit her daughter for Christmas.” She switches off the stove. “You boys have dinner yet?”
I watch the smoke rising out of the pot. “We just ate,” I say, just as Matt says, “We have a reservation.”
I look at him with pity. God, he’s a horrible liar.
“Mmmhmm. Maybe you should go to your reservation, then,” she sniffs.
Ugh, I really like Melanie! Taking her response as the giant, in-your-face hint it is, we politely take our leave.
We walk back to the elevator. This time, I stand in the corner.
“Guess you shouldn’t be quitting your day job anytime soon,” I tease Matt. I find it oddly endearing how hopelessly bad he is at this. The fact that he’s not as perfect as he seems warms my heart. “A reservation? Seriously?”
“I got flustered. I'm not good under pressure,” he mumbles.
“Good thing you're just a firefighter, then.”
“I don't have to make up lies to get out of dinners during emergencies.”
The elevator opens, and we walk down our hall.
“She literally asked a yes or no question. The answer was right there!” I insist.
Matt follows me to my door, and I move to unlock it. I suddenly realize I went straight to my apartment, assuming he’d follow.
He wrinkles his nose. “Well, I’ll let you take the lead on dinner invites from now on, too. Especially if a dish of unknown origin is on the menu.”
I laugh. “I'm making risotto,” I inform him.
He follows me to the kitchen. “You can make that?”
“I’ll let you be the judge of that,” I say, as I put him on vegetable duty.
We spend the evening cooking, then eating together like we've been doing this for years, and not like we’ve only started talking like normal people less than a week ago.