“Homophobe.”
“I’m not. It’s the age thing I meant.”
“Ageist.”
“I’m not! I’m saying,for me,ew. I’m thinking of myself. All ego here.”
“Stop yucking my yum,” Rick said flatly, before bursting into laughter.
“You need to stop doing that. You know what I meant.”
“I know," he sighed through bursts of laughter. "It’s so funny though, people are so easy to wind up, really tickles my pickle.”
“Ew.”
“You know who’s actually been tickling my pickle lately though? Remember Jeffrey?”
“You mean Jeffrey with the pug you won’t let me babysit, who always looks like he’s off to chop wood in the forest?”
“That’s the one. He’s been around. A bit.”
“Oh…” I said, chewing my bottom lip. “Like abit,a bit? Something serious?”
“Shush. Don’t say that. You’ll jinx it.”
“You brought it up.”
“Yeah, well. I’m regretting it now,” Rick muttered. His heart’s armour was just as heavy as mine. “Anyway, tell me more about this detective?”
He was nearly as good as I was at avoiding personal details. Nearly.
“Nothing to say.”
“Which means there’s so much to sa?—”
I pressed the little red button before he could finish.
“Who are we celebrating this week?” Dave asked, dropping into the chair across from me.
“Laurence Gaywall. Glades Bay’s last living World War Two survivor and newest centenarian,” I said, holding up the front page. I wanted to ask if he made a habit of inviting himself to people’s tables, but my usual sass had taken the day off. Probably distracted by a brooding, brown-eyed and tall individual sitting at the counter.
Should I have been more stressed about the break-in? Maybe. But Dax's neat stack of coins on the counter told me there was no rush.
Instead, Dave and I sat in a few moments of awkward silence as he kicked the toe of his New Balance sneaker against the leg of the chair.
“It’s me, Bill!” a man in a black softshell jacket and striped beanie announced from the jingling doorway.
“I thought he’d carked it,” Dave groaned.
My mouth bobbed open. “You were hoping that man had died?”
Dave was growing on me.
“No, no, of course not,” he said, his thumb and index finger pulling his brows together as he tried to avoid being spotted by the man who was now circling the room. “He used to be in the club—well, he still is technically. He was the guy who could get anything—vinyl, rare books, car parts. Now he just… throws everything off. I shouldn’t say that, but it’s true.”
“What, like he doesn’t body roll in sync? Or when everyone’s shaking to the left, your man is shaking to the right?” I joked.
“It’s me, Bill!” the man said again, tapping the name badge pinned to his chest. “Still alive.”
