“Yes, yes, I’m getting my keys.”
The second he unlocked the door, Mabel dashed inside, her leash falling to the ground.
“Sorry!” Kit gasped. “She pulled on it, and I was worried I might hurt her if I didn’t let go.”
“It’s all good,” Quin said, smiling reassuringly as he stepped in behind her. “She has the run of the place. I just happen to live here, too.”
Kit gifted Quin with a gracious laugh at the oft-repeated joke, but the vampire still hovered outside the doorway.
Quin realised his mistake. “Oh! Come in. Or, uh, I formally invite you inside. How does this work?”
Kit walked over the threshold, wellies squeaking. “That’ll do.”
The three of them were now standing in Quin’s small separate entryway, which he used as a dump for dirty shoes and to stop Mabel from tracking mud all over the floors. Not glamorous, but it was useful.
“I’m going to warn you in advance that I haven’t finished decorating,” Quin said. He’d been there for almost two months, so was still changing the decor and getting furniture in his own style. He’d spent so long living with Lark that he wasn’t even sure what he liked himself. Online shopping also bored him out of his skull, so, for the moment, his house was only the bare bones.
“I would say I won’t judge, but we’re both aware that would be a lie,” Kit said.
“For that comment, you can only blame yourself for what’s coming.” Quin whipped off Mabel’s dog jacket, leaving her free to shake out her coat over the two of them. Kit let out a cry of indignation as she sprayed them with water, but it was that or run back out into the rain.
Kit gave Quin a withering look when he chuckled at his plight, but Mabel was delighted. Her tongue lolled out as she stood at the door to the hallway, tail wagging.
“Why,” Kit asked in a monotone.
Quin shrugged as he took the towel he stored for such situations and gave Mabel a cursory drying off. “Blame Mabel, not me.”
“But why would I do that when she’s done nothing wrong?” Kit asked.
Quin pushed open the door to the hallway, Mabel running ahead, and gestured for Kit to follow.
“Kitchen is the last door at the end,” Quin said.
Kit pulled off his wellingtons. It left him in the thickest, fluffiest cream socks that Quin had ever seen. He was quite jealous, in fact, of how cosy they looked.
Catching Quin’s stare, Kit folded his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes. “Please don’t tell me you have a thing for feet.”
“Uh,no,” Quin said.
“No, you won’t tell me, or no, you don’t have a thing for feet?”
“The feet thing,” Quin said as he undid the laces of his boots.
Kit hummed disbelievingly, then walked through the hall, following Mabel on light feet. Okay, so Quin might not have a thing for feet in general, but he appreciated Kit’s feet in a completely normal and non-fetish-like way.
Besides, he hadn’t even seen Kit’s toes yet. He could have ugly toes.
Kit wouldn’t have ugly toes though, Quin reasoned as he went towards the kitchen. They’d be small and cute, just like the rest of him.
He scolded himself for continuing to be weird about Kit’s feet as he strode into the room. It was high on his list to renovate, as he wasn’t a fan of the pine wood counters or cabinets. He’d also have to update the cooker, as it was an ancient piece of equipment that heated his food more quickly on the left-hand side than on the right, and the sink was irritatingly narrow. There was no dishwasher either, which was an utter crime andled to Quin ordering takeaways far more often than was good for him.
Kit stood at one cupboard, holding up a can of Mabel’s dog food, inspecting the label as she danced underfoot. “Has she had her dinner yet?” Kit asked. Other people might have been offended that Kit’s first act inside the house had been to root through the cabinets, but Quin liked that Kit felt so at ease.
“She has,” he answered. “Don’t listen to her whining. It’s time for her bed, not another meal.”
“Is this the best stuff you can afford?”
“Are you telling me I’m poor?”
