Cookies

The door opens before your second knock and a slim young guy leans out, coveralls rolled to the waist, wiping his hands on a dead rag. You're person from the ad. Give me the heavy one. Creme shows up at his elbow, flour up one arm, and the two of them walk you upstairs, him thumbing at the doors as you pass. Bathroom's there, handle needs a jiggle. Here's you. He sets your bag down, and Creme pulls him down by the ear and kisses him unhurried in the middle of your new room, his hand finding her ass and staying through the whole thing like it's the plainest thing in the world. When she breaks it she squeezes his cheek and heads for the stairs. Sauce's at the dangerous stage. Come down hungry. Her footsteps fade, and then it's just you and him, him already crouched at your window eyeballing a crooked latch like fixing it is his way of saying welcome.