“And youkeptreading them?” Adrian asks.
“Why not? They’re good. Clear character arcs, emotional payoff, relationships that actually develop.” Calvin catches my eye as he says this, and there’s a challenge there. Or maybe an invitation. Then he turns back to Adrian. “Plus, if you have any interest in what women actually want in bed, you might benefit from reading a couple yourself.”
Adrian’s face turns red. “Well, this isrevelatory. The great Calvin Midnight reads bodice rippers. Perhaps I’ll give them a try. Speaking of expanding horizons, I’ve been telling Marenshe should come to my gathering this weekend. Saturday afternoon. Wine, good food, actual conversation that doesn’t revolve around fishing or lumber prices.”
“And I’ve been telling you that I work weekends,” I say, grateful when a customer flags me down at the other end of the bar. “Excuse me.”
I take my time with the order, needing distance from whatever’s happening between Calvin and me with Adrian as an oblivious audience. When I come back from pouring two whiskeys and a vodka soda, Adrian has shifted his efforts to Calvin.
“You should come too. Might do you good to rejoin civilization for an afternoon. Remember what it’s like to talk about something other than roof repairs.”
“Thanks for the invite, but I’ll pass. Lots of work to do on the house,” Calvin says, his tone making it clear this isn’t up for negotiation.
“You always pass.” Adrian sighs dramatically. “Calvin’s developed quite the hermit reputation. Very mysterious. Very Byronic.”
“I prefer ‘selectively social,’” Calvin says with a slight shrug, taking another drink.
Adrian chuckles at that. “Though from what I hear, that scholarly mystique still works well for you with the ladies back in Seattle.”
Calvin’s shoots him a cold look “Don’t believe everything you hear at faculty parties.”
There it is. The reminder that Calvin Midnight has his whole Seattle life. And that him looking at me over his beer like he wants to devour me doesn’t mean what I want it to mean.
“Faculty parties,” Lark pipes up. “Where academics go to prove they’re worse at socializing than their students.”
Adrian laughs at that. “Fair. Though despite what he says, Calvin here always seemed to do just fine at them.”
“That’s because I leave early,” Calvin says dryly.
Adrian grins, finishing the last of his Old Fashioned. “The Irish goodbye. Classic Calvin move.” His phone buzzes and he checks it, frowning. “Speaking of leaving early, I should go. Early workshop tomorrow. The joys of teaching writers on Pacific time from the East Coast.” He pulls out his wallet, leaves money on the bar. “Think about this weekend, Maren. You too, Lark.”
“Can’t,” Lark says cheerfully, raising her propped up ankle. “I’m injured. Tragic, really.”
Adrian laughs as he heads for the door, clapping Calvin on the shoulder as he passes. “Good seeing you.”
When the door closes, Lark closes her laptop with a decisive snap.
“Okay, he’s annoying,” she admits, stretching her arms overhead. “But I won’t deny he’s kind of funny. In that way where you’re not sure if he means to be.” She glances at where Adrian left his money on the bar, doing quick math. “And not a bad tipper. So I’ll tolerate the stories where he mainly just brags about his intellect disguised as self-deprecation.”
“That’severystory,” Calvin says, and the dryness of his delivery makes me bite back a smile.
“That easy to win you over?” I ask Lark, setting Adrian’s empty glass in the dish rack with more force than necessary. “A decent tip?”
“Hey, I’m a practical woman,” Lark says, testing her weight on her ankle before standing properly. “Good tips pay my rent. And my Netflix. And occasionally my questionable online shopping habits.”
“The foundation of the American economy,” Calvin says, raising his beer slightly. “Tolerating annoying people for money.”
“Exactly. Also known as literally every job,” Lark agrees, grinning. “Except maybe... no, wait, that’s every job.”
Calvin raises his glass higher in mock salute, and she returns it with an imaginary glass of her own.
She heads toward the back room. “I should check the inventory. Make sure we have enough vodka for the weekend.”
When she disappears through the door, the bar feels too quiet even with the jukebox playing and the tech guys laughing in the corner. It’s just Calvin and me now, and I’m hyperaware of him sitting there, watching me work.
“Another?” I ask, nodding at his nearly empty beer, hoping he says yes, hoping he says no.
“I should probably go,” he says, but he doesn’t move, just keeps rotating his glass in slow circles on the bar, fingers playing with the condensation.
