13. Chapter 13

Chapter thirteen

I had the most brilliant idea the day after our second date. I'd always been a bit…obsessive. Call it what you will—but it was part of who I was. After visiting Felix's home, it was like a dam had broken and I … couldn't seem to turn it off.

I could not stop thinking about him.

All day.

When I was writing spreadsheets, I thought of him. When I was warding off Harold's well-meaning lunch invites, I thought of him. When I drove home—and passed a cop car—I thought of him.

My head was in the clouds. But it wasn't until I received an unexpected visitor that I knew what to do with my newfound obsession.

It was after dark. I'd been meal prepping for the next week at work, and the doorbell rang. Immediately, my hackles raised. The only person who visited me this late was Barry (the bore). I'd already received the note on my door inviting me to his annual Summer Bash at the end of August, and I worried—like with the fair—he would try to rope me into doing something to help him.

I'd rather eat my own leg.

If he asked me to bring coleslaw I was going to scream.

It was different if I brought something on my own. That only meant that I'd decided to be generous that day. Or that I'd had extra time on my hands. If Barry asked me to bring something it became an obligation and I hated those. So much.

Teeth gritted, my brow lowered into my most intimidating scowl, I made sure my apron was tied before wiping my hands off on it and heading to the front door. When I yanked it open, I was prepared to yell.

That became unnecessary the moment I saw who my guest actually was.

"Felix," I perked up, my scowl melting away, despite how hard I tried to keep it in place. I couldn't have him realizing how giddy he made me, could I? That would give him too much power over me.

"Hi, Marshall." Felix smiled at me. "I like your apron. You look…very domestic."

"Domestic?" I frowned down at my apron, unsure if that was a good thing. It was frilly. Winnie had given it to me as a gag gift one year, but I liked it, so I often wore it when I was cooking. I hadn't brought it to Felix's house the night before. But that was because we weren't apron-level-lovers yet. At least…we hadn't been, until the end of the night.

Now we'd gotten to first base.

So I supposed it was alright if he saw my frills.

"Yes," Felix nodded, biting his lip, his sharp little incisors flashing. "Domestic."

It felt like a compliment, so I let it be one.

"You look…" I scanned him, head to toe, my own cheeks flushing as I tried to come up with a compliment of my own. "Soft."

Felix's smile widened. "Soft?"

"Cuddly," I added, clearing my throat, my entire face hot. "Like a baby horse." We'd had a few throughout my childhood and their fur always looked like that. Fuzzy. Downy. Sweet.

"Thank you." Felix's shoulders looked particularly delicious today. His sweater was pale pink, a perfect complement to the baby blue I was sporting. It clung to his frame, highlighting every curve, the collar dipping low enough I could see his collarbones.

The way it swooped reminded me of his pajamas.

Damn. I should've paid more attention the one and only time I'd seen them.

What a waste.

I wish I could see them again.

Felix's hair was curling around his slightly pointed ears, his hat perched on top of his head. There were still dark circles under his eyes, but the sadness that normally lingered was missing. Instead he looked… excited ? Huh .

The scent of something buttery and sweet filled my nose, and I cocked my head at him, gaze finally swiveling from his face down to the box he carried.

"Is that…" I blinked, flummoxed. "A pie?"

"Rhubarb!" Felix held it out to me, looking incredibly proud of himself. "I didn't bake it. I can't bake—" he laughed, self-conscious. "Or cook. I never learned. Never had to. Always had staff on hand for that. Never had to learn to clean either. Did you know there's such a thing as pie delivery?" I shook my head dumbly, reaching out to take the pie from him, shell-shocked. "The modern world never ceases to amaze me."

"It's full of wonders," I echoed, only half-listening.

Because pie.

This blind-sided me even more than the murders he'd committed.

Bodies I knew how to handle. Pie? Not so much.

"A friend recommended it to me," he said—still talking. My eyes narrowed.

"What friend?"

"No one special, caveman," he snorted out. I eyed the label on the box curiously. I'd always had a sweet tooth. It was something I should've tried to curb—especially as I got older—but I'd never seemed to manage.

My three vices.

Murder, sugar, and Felix.

"Special enough they told you about pie delivery," I wheedled. The box was warm in my grasp.

"Maaarshall." Felix laughed, an almost guilty twist to his lips.

"Is this another of your secrets?" I cocked my head to the side, the sweet scent of fresh pie filling the air between us. Felix seemed to debate with himself, before he ultimately nodded.

"I feel like you're lying," I said, unable to bite my tongue.

"Okay, so maybe calling them my friend is a stretch. Acquaintance is more accurate." Felix bit his lip. "A fan of my work? A guest."

"What work?" I had never seen him leave his house. "Are you an artist?" That would explain…a lot actually. Perhaps he had one of those online shops where he sold his wares. His crochet-creations. The memorabilia he collected from the 1950s that littered his house.

"Of a sort," Felix answered vaguely. "Depending on who you ask."

"I'm asking you ," I frowned.

"Right." Felix inhaled sharply, an almost forlorn expression crossing his face. "Then yes…I think what I made was art." His lips tipped up. "I don't do it anymore. I can't."

"Does that make you sad?"

"Sometimes," Felix offered me a soft little smile. "It helps that you asked."

"Oh. Well. Good for me then."

"Good for me too." Felix laughed, and it was the prettiest thing I'd heard all day.

I nodded, relaxing. "An acquaintance told you about pie delivery."

"Yes." Felix's face was bright red. "I called him up and asked. Because you mentioned yesterday that you missed it."

I would've rather he never called anyone other than me ever—but I suppose I couldn't be too angry. Because he'd bought me a pie.

"You called up your acquaintance," I repeated, trying to parse this together. "And what? Asked if he knew of any places where rhubarb was made?"

"Yes." Felix's splotchy flush was lovely. He licked his lips. "Was that…okay?"

He peered at me through his lashes, and I softened, unable to hold onto my ire.

"Of course it was okay. You may buy me pie anytime."

Felix's hypothetical tail wagged.

If he was a chihuahua, I was the doberman panting after him. Willing to jump through hoops for him—my doggy brain fully set on breeding him into the ground. He certainly made me want to howl.

It was like he'd reprogrammed the way my brain worked. And I couldn't even be mad about it—Especially after what we'd shared, and how many times he'd jumped to my rescue.

He was mine, silly pies and all .

And I didn't want to share him—just like I didn't want to share my new treat.

I was half-tempted to hunt down every person he'd ever slept with and eliminate the competition entirely.

"Do you like it?" Felix asked, his hands slipping into his pockets as he rocked onto his toes, then back onto his heels. He looked like a needy puppy, all fluffy blond hair, his eyes searching mine.

"I love it," I said simply, because it was true. I squeezed the box, my heart fluttering. "Would you like to come in?" I cocked my head to the side again, jerking my chin backward. Felix twisted a little, his eyes alight with curiosity as he glanced down the pristine hallway, gaze flickering to the line of Italian loafers on a stand by the door.

Good.

Gaze at my shoes, Felix.

See how well I take care of the leather and know I'll take care of you too.

"Are you cooking?" he asked, sniffing the air.

I nodded, twisting my body to allow him a view of the archway that led to the kitchen. Almost like it was perfectly timed, the timer above the stove beeped. Quickly, I shut the door on Felix, hurrying down the hallway to deal with the chicken before it burned.

I set his pie down, put my oven mitts on, and bent over.

Chicken saved, I leaned back to admire it, hands on my hips.

It was only then that I realized what I'd done .

Oh.

Oh no.

Oh no, I had not meant to do that—to shut the door on him—oh fuck.

I sprinted back to the front door, yanking it open, mitts still on. Felix was miraculously still there. He blinked at me and my now frazzled expression. Then he laughed. It was a glorious sound, soft and husky.

"You stayed."

"I'll let you cook," he said—in answer to my earlier invitation, the one I'd given him before I'd slammed the door in his face. "I just had something else I wanted to give you. You mentioned that you might want to clean my house, and I know that's weird but I…"

I hadn't mentioned so much as I'd demanded that he let me do it. But it was cute of him to soften my words.

"I do want to clean your house," I blurted. "Very much." And then, because he deserved an apology, I added, "I am so sorry for shutting the door in your face. And running." The words tasted like ash on my tongue as I waved my gloved hands at him.

"Don't be." Felix grinned even wider. He crossed the distance between us, slipping between my outstretched arms and tipping up onto his tiptoes for a kiss. I leaned down immediately, answering his silent command.

The kiss was chaste and soft .

It tasted like cherry chapstick. The one I'd given him last night before I'd left. He tucked something into my pocket, something small and light. "In case you need it to get in." Then he kissed me again, and every thought in my head fled.

My stomach filled with butterflies, my socked toes curling against the tile.

When we parted the second time, Felix reached up to gently swipe his thumb over my lip, probably to clean off the leftover chapstick.

"Goodnight, Marshall," he said, following our usual pattern.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, heart pounding. "Goodnight, Felix."

He looked pleased that I'd used his name again. It was written all over his face as he stepped back, swiveling gracefully on his heel before hopping down the steps. When he was halfway across my yard, he twisted back around to wave.

I waved back.

But I didn't stop watching him. Not until he'd crossed through the white picket fence that marked the end of my property. Not until he strode across the street to his own home. Till the door shut behind him, and I saw his shadow move up the stairs.

Later that night, I had my brilliant idea.

My brilliant, amazing, wonderful idea.

Innovative, really .

I'd been checking the camera footage from the security cameras like I did every night when a familiar, floppy-hatted man showed up in the feed. I paused it, zooming in on his face with near manic glee.

Cameras.

Yes.

Cameras!

I could see Felix's pajamas again if I used this to my advantage, couldn't I? And I wouldn't even have to wait until we slept together. I could keep my eye on him. Make sure he was safe. That no one—cough—Barry—cough—would be bothering him throughout the day while he was sleeping. I could make sure his "friends" were treating him with respect. And if they weren't? I could step in. Yes. Yes. Yes .

I was a genius .

An absolute fucking genius.

I should win an award for this.

I was only forward thinking. Protecting Felix was noble, wasn't it? Not creepy . I shot down Winnie's voice in my head—chest puffing up with pride. Never mind the fact that I had rather gleefully taken screenshots of the parts of surveillance video that had Felix in them, and saved them to my phone.

I was Suburban Serial Killer Batman.

Protector of tiny, lonely hermit men.

Not a lovesick stalker who would tattoo Felix's face on my ass if I wasn't terrified of needles.

It wasn't until I was changing into my pajamas that I remembered the second gift Felix had given me. It spilled from my pants pocket onto the floor, and I grinned— evilly —when I saw what it was.

A key.

A key to Felix's house.

So that I could go over and clean.

Unfortunately, I had to wait until I was off for the weekend to enact my evil plan. Which was, A: clean up the dust and cobwebs in Felix's home. And B: install the cameras I'd purchased to spy on him.

He'd sleep all day—I already knew that—which meant I had plenty of time.

Cleaning his house, on top of helping him, offered me the perfect alibi.

Bright and early, I headed across the street to Felix's murder-mansion, feeling like a giddy child as I used the key he'd given to me for the first time.

Dolly and Tiffany hissed at me where they lurked at the base of the stairs, and I waved them off with a positively sunny grin.

"Oh, hush," I hummed, shutting the door behind me. "I'm helping your father, so behave."

Never mind the fact that I was spying on him too. But they didn't need to know that.

I tried to be quiet, despite the fact that Felix had assured me that he was a deep sleeper, because it was only polite.

From six a.m. to noon, I worked my way through the first floor, the kitchen, the dining room, and living room. From noon to five, I scrubbed my way through the second floor—which, to my mounting horror, housed a whole plethora of rooms that were filled to the brim with junk.

The clutter that lined the halls was just the tip of the iceberg, and that only became clearer with each door I opened.

Letters, paintings, posters. Old, dated furniture. Portraits and pictures of people I didn't recognize in black and white, that I could only assume were Felix's family. A tarot deck that looked about a thousand years old. Knick-knacks and memorabilia from what looked like the mid 1900s. And in the back room at the end of the hall, I found a very memorable, very large coffin tucked away in a surprisingly dustless corner.

The cats watched me as I worked around it, but I found I didn't mind the company. At least…when Dolly wasn't swiping at my head.

"You've got a very pretty father," I informed them as I worked my way through the coffin room. "You're very lucky. Mine is quite a bit uglier than yours is."

They both seemed to approve of this statement, and left me alone when I headed into the next room .

I didn't throw away any of Felix's things, as that wasn't my place. But I did clean them up, organizing them as best I could, and freeing them from cobwebs and dust.

I avoided the third floor where Felix's bedroom was, so that I wouldn't wake him. I was quite curious what his sleeping face would look like but that felt rude—and I didn't want to disturb him. Especially when I was about to install cameras in his kitchen and by his front door.

I chose both locations for specific reasons. Most importantly, I was unlikely to see anything inappropriate with either camera—I wanted to observe him, not violate his privacy. The camera at the front would allow me to see people coming and going. And, the kitchen camera meant when Felix ate dinner, I could join him, even from my computer at work.

Finally, around six p.m., when I was dust-worn and gritty, I made my way back downstairs. Pulling out the box I'd brought that housed the surveillance equipment, I tugged on my apron—the cleaning one, not the cooking one—and got to work.

Felix had never been awake during the daylight hours before, and I hadn't expected that to change. He was a creature of habit as much as I was. Perhaps I'd been too loud when I was cleaning and disturbed him?

Or perhaps it had been the chipper way I'd whistled while I worked. Either way, like usual, my guard was down when Felix was in my general vicinity. Which was why I hadn't realized he was there .

"You know, if you wanted to take photos of me you would've been better off installing the camera in the living room," Felix said, startling the bejesus out of me and nearly making me fall on my ass. "I'm hardly ever in here."

I paused, rigid—and very, very slowly turned my head to look at him.

I knew what I probably looked like. A kid with his hand stuck in a damn cookie jar. Don't freak out, don't freak out, don't freak out. But…my guilt melted away the second I actually saw him.

"Thank you for cleaning my house, Marshall." Felix was sleepy-soft, wearing the pajamas that had sparked this idea in the first place. "It hasn't been this nice in years." There was a dazed sort of look on his face that reminded me of the first time that I'd come over here, like he was still half-asleep. Felix leaned against the doorway, his cats looping through his legs as he blinked blearily up at me, a soft smile on his lips.

I checked my watch. Seven o'clock.

He wasn't supposed to be up yet.

I squinted at him, annoyed.

"Why are you awake?" I accused him. "You shouldn't be awake for hours."

Why wasn't he freaking out?

That did not look like the face of a man who had just discovered his neighbor-lover putting cameras up in his home.

Felix yawned, stretching his arms over this head. The hem of his pajama top lifted up, flashing me a delicious peek of his pale, flat belly. Do not get hard, Marshall. Not while installing cameras in your boyfriend's kitchen.

"Why are you putting a camera in my kitchen, Marshall?" Felix countered sleepily, not sounding nearly as offended as he probably should have. Touché.

His lips curled up into a sly little smile. "Did you miss me?"

I scoffed, "As if."

"Uh-huh," he nodded, lowering his arms, that lovely span of naked belly covered once again. I licked my lips, my pulse skittering. His gaze snapped to my throat, and I must've been imagining things because it almost sounded like he groaned. "I'm not mad, Marshall."

I squinted at him, sure he was lying.

Hell, I'd be mad if I caught someone putting cameras in my house.

"You're not?"

"No."

We were at a standstill. Like an old Western film. Two cowboys in a duel. Felix waited me out, his lips twitching—like he was amused, even though his silence was apparently a weapon he could use against me.

It wasn't fair. What happened to the bumbling nervous man I'd walked in the woods with? It was like he could see right through me. See the way I ached for him. And like a switch had flipped, Felix's nervousness melted away. His true confidence began to shine through and it was…god, it was heady.

It felt like a century passed before I spoke .

"I'm protecting you."

He cocked his head to the side, assessing me. "I see." He scratched his pec, and my eyes snapped to the movement, my mouth suddenly dry. "So you're not spying on me?"

"I mean…I am."

"Right."

"So that I can protect you."

"Right." Felix laughed. It was a lovely, tinkling sound. "It's not because you're obsessed with me or anything."

"Of course not." Even I knew that sounded like a goddamn lie.

"It would be okay if you were," Felix said, voice low and fluttery. "I'd like it."

"You…would?"

"Yes." His eyes were such a striking shade of red. I didn't understand why he'd chosen to wear colored contacts, but I didn't mind. Not when they were so damn pretty. "I miss…being watched," Felix admitted, and his words were fragile and soft. "Being adored."

"Oh."

He offered me the grace of God then, because he didn't ask me any more questions about the cameras. In fact…he kept me company while I finished installing the second one, then followed behind me like a sleepy little duckling as I showed him where the first one was .

"So, you're telling me, that if I stand here—" Felix guided me back into the kitchen, then stood in the corner of the room facing the camera. "You'll be able to see it?"

"Correct." I showed him the app on my phone, a little, tiny Felix and Marshall showed up on the screen. I looked massive when standing next to him. Ginormous . Like a fucking mountain troll. My cock ached already, staring at the first ever photo of us together.

I screen-shotted it while I was looking, just in case.

I'd need to frame this.

Just imagine all the pictures I'll get!

There were so many wonderful opportunities.

"Okay," Felix said, smiling up at me. "This is going to be fun."

I didn't know what he meant.

At least…not until the next day when I was going through the first day of footage and saw Felix walk to that same corner of the kitchen I'd shown him. He raised his hands, made an odd shape with them, and paused there for a solid minute or two—probably to make sure the camera captured what he was trying to do.

It wasn't until I'd screen-shotted and zoomed in that I realized what symbol he'd been making with his hands.

A heart.

For me.

For the next week, every day like clockwork Felix would wake up and wander into the kitchen to give me a heart. On Tuesday he even blew me a kiss. Aside from that, the cameras didn't catch much.

Just him bringing in his delivery and blocking the contents of the box with the fridge.

I was starting to seriously wonder whether he needed to eat or not because the most I ever saw him do when he went into the kitchen was fill a mug with some sort of juice from the fridge. At least, I assumed it was juice. Because the liquid looked dark when he walked close enough for the camera to pick up the contents of the cup.

It never even occurred to me that Felix's appetite was a little more complicated than mine.

Maybe it should have.