At least there were some decent windows to let in light in the morning.
Goya took off, sniffing around every inch of the room. And I genuinely hoped he was just getting a feel of the place and not smelling rats or mice or anything.
Nico moved to the kitchen sink, turning it on to run some water into the catch, then went to the fridge to check the temperature.
I couldn’t unstick myself from my spot.
Part of it was, admittedly, the air conditioning.
But the other part was witnessing Nico’s competence.
If I was here with Matthew, I would have needed to be the one to think of all these things. Then do them.
While I was clearly perfectly capable of it, I had to admit that it was nice to have someone else take charge and get things done.
He turned off the tap, then went down the hall, running the water in the sink and shower, flushing the toilet, making sure everything was working like it should.
Alone, I filled Goya’s new water bowl and set it down for him before checking through the cabinets.
And there wasn’t much in them.
Four plates, four bowls, four cups, four mugs, and four sets of silverware. There was one pot, one pan, and one saucepan. And exactly one spatula and one slotted spoon.
At least there was a coffee pot.
It was set on the counter, still in its box, so I went ahead and started working on that.
Finished, I glanced back at the apartment.
The couch was dark brown and overstuffed, but seemed new. The coffee table and end tables were straight out of a big box store. The TV was mounted to the wall. And there was a small four-seater round dining table with a coat of dust over it.
I went to see if there were any cleaning supplies in the bathroom when I almost ran into Nico in the hall.
“Everything alright?” I asked at the tense look on his face.
“Uh, yeah. You have the bedroom. Obviously,” he said, waving back at it.
Leaning past him, I saw a simple, small room with what looked like a queen bed, matching nightstands, and a dresser. The mattress itself was in one of those bug and waterproof covers my grandma always had on our beds growing up.
The linens were missing.
“There’s only one bed?” I asked.
“It’s fine. I’ve slept on many couches in my day.”
Sure, but not like the one in the safe house living room. While comfortable-looking, it was way too short for a man as tall as him.
“I’ll take the couch. I’m shorter. It makes more sense.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Why?”
“Because if anyone is going to be close to the door, it’s going to be me.”
That protectiveness ran deep in him.
And I liked it more than was appropriate.
