Chapter 4
913 Words
POV: Emma Brooks
Emma had a rule.
Never panic before lunch.
Most disasters looked smaller after a sandwich.
Unfortunately, it wasn't even ten in the morning.
She had barely reached the office when someone hammered on the front door.
Not knocked.
Hammered.
She looked up from her paperwork.
"If that's you, Mr. Wilson, the answer is still no. You cannot install a karaoke machine in the laundry room."
The door swung open.
Mr. Wilson stood there anyway.
"It isn't about karaoke."
Emma relaxed.
"Wonderful."
"It's worse."
Her shoulders sagged again.
"What happened?"
"The new guy broke something."
Emma blinked.
"...Already?"
"I timed it."
"You timed it?"
"Forty-three minutes."
She stared at him.
"You actually used a stopwatch?"
"I wanted to see if he'd beat the record."
"There was a record?"
"Apartment 4A."
"What did they do?"
"Sat on the sink."
Emma didn't ask.
Experience had taught her that some stories only raised more questions.
She climbed the stairs with Mr. Wilson happily following behind.
By the time they reached the third floor, two more doors had opened.
Mrs. Alvarez peeked out with a dish towel over her shoulder.
"The handsome one broke something?"
Mr. Wilson nodded proudly.
"The closet."
She clucked her tongue.
"Oh dear."
Emma sighed.
"Why is everyone out here?"
Mrs. Alvarez looked offended.
"We're neighbors."
"Assembling in the hallway isn't neighborly."
"It is here."
Emma decided not to argue.
She knocked on Apartment 3B.
A moment later, Damian opened the door.
He was holding a silver doorknob in one hand.
"...Hi."
Emma looked from the knob...
...to the closet...
...back to the knob.
"What happened?"
"I opened it."
She waited.
He waited.
Finally she asked, "And?"
"It detached."
Mr. Wilson leaned toward Mrs. Alvarez and whispered much louder than necessary, "He's stronger than he looks."
"I can hear you," Damian said.
"I know."
Emma stepped inside.
The closet door stood slightly crooked.
She examined the screws.
One had worn loose over time.
Not Damian's fault.
Well...
Mostly not.
She looked at him.
"You didn't pull it like you were starting a lawn mower, did you?"
"I don't think so."
"You don't think so?"
"I've never been asked that before."
She pressed her lips together.
A laugh threatened to escape.
No.
Absolutely not.
Landladies did not laugh at tenants.
Especially on the first day.
She took a screwdriver from the small toolbox she always carried.
Damian watched.
"You keep tools with you?"
"I manage an apartment building."
"You were expecting this?"
"I was expecting something."
She tightened the screws with practiced movements.
Within a minute, the handle was back where it belonged.
"There."
Damian reached for his wallet.
"How much?"
Emma frowned.
"For what?"
"The repair."
She blinked.
"It took sixty seconds."
"So?"
"So... I'm not charging you."
"You should."
"I shouldn't."
"You spent your time."
"I also breathe."
He looked genuinely confused.
Emma folded her arms.
"Not everything comes with an invoice."
Before he could answer, Mrs. Alvarez wandered into the apartment carrying a plate.
"I brought cinnamon rolls."
Emma closed her eyes.
"Mrs. Alvarez..."
"What?"
"You can't keep entering people's apartments."
"I knocked."
"You knocked while opening the door."
"Efficiency."
Mr. Wilson wandered in behind her.
"So this is Apartment 3B."
Damian looked from one visitor to the other.
"...Do people usually just..."
"Yes," Emma and Mrs. Alvarez answered together.
Emma sighed.
"No."
Mrs. Alvarez smiled.
"Also yes."
Damian wasn't sure which answer to believe.
Mrs. Alvarez placed the plate on the kitchen counter.
"You looked hungry."
"I already have muffins."
"Those were breakfast."
"This is emotional support."
Mr. Wilson picked up a cinnamon roll.
"So generous."
Mrs. Alvarez slapped his hand away.
"Not for you."
"I was quality testing."
"You've passed enough tests."
Emma pinched the bridge of her nose.
"This is why I have headaches."
Mr. Wilson pointed toward the tiny kitchen.
"So..."
Damian followed his gaze.
"So?"
"You know how to cook?"
Damian hesitated just long enough.
"...Of course."
Emma turned slowly.
That pause.
It had lasted exactly one second too long.
Interesting.
Mrs. Alvarez smiled sweetly.
"What are you making for dinner?"
"Dinner?"
"Yes."
Damian glanced at the spotless stove as though hoping it would rescue him.
"I haven't decided."
Mr. Wilson rubbed his hands together.
"Excellent."
Damian's instincts screamed.
"Excellent?"
"We'll be your taste testers."
"My what?"
"The whole building loves welcoming new tenants."
Emma immediately recognized that smile.
It was the smile Mr. Wilson wore moments before making terrible suggestions.
"No."
He ignored her.
"Tonight."
"No."
"Cooking party."
"No."
"Apartment 3B."
"No."
"Everyone brings empty stomachs."
Emma pointed at him.
"Absolutely not."
Mrs. Alvarez nodded thoughtfully.
"I'll bring dessert."
Emma looked at her in disbelief.
"You just agreed."
"I heard free food."
"There isn't any food yet."
"There will be."
Damian opened his mouth.
Closed it again.
Then smiled.
A confident smile.
"I can handle dinner."
Emma stared at him.
Really?
After watching him hold a screwdriver upside down five minutes ago?
"You can cook?"
He met her eyes.
"I'll impress everyone."
Emma had no idea why...
But she suddenly felt sorry for the stove.
That evening, she was halfway through organizing rent receipts when the building lights flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Then...
A shrill fire alarm exploded through the entire apartment building.
Emma shot out of her chair.
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me."
Her eyes lifted toward the ceiling.
Apartment 3B.
She didn't know exactly what Damian Knight had done.
She only knew one thing.
Whatever it was...
It involved fire.
- Writer
