"The Coffee House Spy" 2

Emily walked Sir Harry up the five flights of stairs to her tiny one bedroom apartment while thinking unkind thoughts about the dog’s inconsiderate and missing owner.

She opened the door to her apartment and stared at the lack of space for the large dog, but it didn’t seem to deter Sir Harry; he happily stepped into her living room and must have decided the couch was a great dog bed because, as soon as she took off the leash, he sailed over the coffee table and made a perfect ten point landing on it. He stretched out, taking up all available space, rested his head on his big puppy paws and watched her.

“You truly are a knight, aren’t you?" She asked shaking her head at the pampered pup as he closed his eyes and effectively dismissed her.

“Don't worry about it,” she said sarcastically, “I’ll just go make myself comfortable on a kitchen stool."

She walked into the kitchen thinking that dog's owner had better call; she’d left her phone number with the café's owner, but she wasn’t feeling too confident he’d come back to claim the beast.

“And now I might be stuck with an oversized, furry roommate living on my couch," she complained out loud with a bewildered shake of her head.

What she was going to do when the beast got hungry? All she had were two wilted carrots, a jar of peanut butter, six stale crackers and a half bottle of red wine in her refrigerator. She'd intended to get a pizza for tonight and go to the grocery store tomorrow.

Well, Sir Harry would have to settle for half a pizza and like it, she decided, but what about when nature called? Great, she'd have to walk him....possibly at night...maybe having a dog walker wasn't a laughable idea.

Emily sat down at her kitchen counter and eyed her useless automatic drip coffee maker with disgust, she’d thrown the broken carafe in the trash that morning but she’d love some coffee. The coffee Brent had bought her was still at the café; she'd been so upset at his vanishing act she’d forgotten to grab it when she left.

She got up and  filled the tea kettle and set it on the stove to boil as she began to read through the first manuscript. When the water boiled she made a cup of tea and set it on the counter to brew.

She was about to take a sip of  her tea when she heard a tapping; it was coming from her kitchen window. Could a bird could be tapping on her window?

Curious, she walked to the window tea cup in hand and rolled up the blinds. When two human eyes stared back at her she jumped, screamed and spilled the tea down her shirt and pants.

“Sorry,” the man on her fire escape said and gave her a jaunty, non repentant smile and a half wave.

“Are you kidding me? How the h...what are you d..?” She was so shocked she couldn’t form full sentences.

“Can you let me in?” He asked with a smidgeon of apology in his tone.

Emily turned away and put the cup down on the counter then grabbed a dish towel to ineffectively dab at the large, wet, brown stain spreading on her angry bird t-shirt.

“This morning just keeps on giving,” she groused looking back at the idiot on her fire escape and wondering if it was wise to let him in. Why hadn’t he pressed the doorbell and walked up the stairs like a normal person? Because he was a spy, she theorized even as unlocked the window and opened it for him.

Brent stood in her tiny kitchen and took notice of her well placed furnishings and shelves and nodded. “Nice place.”

“Nice place? That’s the first thing you say to me, not an explanation of what the heck happened to you?”

“Right, I should explain.”

“Can you? I mean who goes to the restroom and disappears like that, or leaves that large burden with a stranger? It sounds like a movie plot.”

”I guess it does….Sir Harry, how is he?”

“He’s fine, sleeping on my couch…settled in comfortably I'd say.”

Brent chuckled, of course Harry would find the largest bed available and claim it; he’d done the same in his apartment.

“I’m sorry I put you through this trouble Emily; did you miss work on my account?”

“No, I wish but…I work from home so I never miss a wonderful day at the office. Only today, I’ll have to use the kitchen counter to work at instead of my cozy couch, as it’s occupied.”

Brent looked down at the stack of manuscripts on her counter top.

“Is this what you publish?’ He asked picking up the top manuscript and reading its titie,”Simpler How To, The Art of Plumbing?”

"Yup, SHT, that's the acronym for the company,” she clarified and when his brow rose at the information, she acknowledged his unasked question with a nod, “it sounds exactly as you're thinking, even without a strategically placed “I” and that pretty much sums up working there.”

"They might want to rethink that name," he chuckled and placed the manuscript back on top of the pile.

"I'm sure they’ve been told, but enough about my job, would you care to elaborate on yours?”

“Not particularly, why don't you go change out of those tea stained clothes and I’ll make you another cup.”

“Sure, just make yourself at home…not! Listen mister, you’re going to tell me something about what you’ve gotten me into here.”

“I will, I just thought you’d be more comfortable out of those wet, stained clothes.”

Emily looked down at her t-shirt and jogging pants then back up at him.

“Fine, I’ll go change but you’d better stay; I want answers when I get back, beginning with, why you couldn’t use the stairs…no…first, I’d like to know, how you found out where I lived?”

“I’ll be here.”

He’d said it a tad too chipper as he took a cup from her cupboard, zoning in on where they were, as if he lived there.

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously, she didn’t trust him but he was already in her apartment and his dog was sleeping on her couch, and there were answers she needed.

“I’ll be right back, don’t go anywhere!"

He smiled and nodded and she ran from the kitchen to her tiny bedroom hoping to change her outfit in seconds flat.

The minute he heard her bedroom door close he walked into the living room and retrieved Harry's collar. He slid his finger along the inside of the leather and slid opened the small pocket and took out the miniature camera. He quickly slid it into his back pocket. Then he spied Emily's cell phone on the coffee table and opened the home screen, he wasn’t surprised she didn’t have a security lock on it. He scrolled through the settings for the information he needed and linked it to his tracking device.

He'd just returned to the kitchen, placed the kettle back on the stove and sat down at the counter when he heard her bedroom door reopen.