“Oh, don’t worry about—”
“But I did bring you something.” George pulled out the envelope from his pocket. “For Collin.”
“Oh, you dear man!” Willow smiled. “Thank you so much.”
Her sincere appreciation warmed him, and he returnedher smile. “This is a nice gallery. I didn’t look around too much, but it looks like you’ve accumulated some very interesting art.” He studied her closely, noticing how her loose curls framed her creamy face. She really was exceptionally pretty.
“Thank you. It’s a work in progress. I started the gallery last fall and I feel like the pieces are finally falling into place.” Her brow creased. “I, uh, don’t want to alarm you, but it appears your neighbor is heading our way.”
“Oh dear.” He glanced nervously toward the door. “Perhaps I should just go home.”
Willow held up the letter. “I know. Why don’t you take this up to Collin? He’s in a rather dour state of mind tonight. I couldn’t coax him to come down here.”
“Oh ... what’s wrong?”
“It’s about a girl. I encouraged him to invite her here tonight. Unfortunately, she turned him down.” She shook her head. “But if you took this up to him, it might brighten his mood.” She offered a stiff-looking smile as Lorna joined them.
“If you ladies will excuse me, I need to deliver this.” George waved the letter for Lorna to see.
Lorna looked dubious.
“There’s a hallway to the stairs near the gallery entrance,” Willow told George. “Apartment three.”
Feeling mysterious—as if embarking on a secret mission—George exited the gallery, went up the dimly lit stairway, and knocked on the door with a three on it.
“Mr. Emerson?” Collin blinked in surprise. “What are you doing here?”
George held up the letter and quickly explained. “Your grandmother asked me to give it to you.”
“Thank you!” Collin opened the door wider. “Do you want to come in?”
“Sure.” George nodded, glancing around the starkly furnished apartment. All was neat and tidy, but it didn’t look like the sort of place someone like Willow would inhabit.
“Can I get you something to drink?” Collin asked. “Although I’ll warn you, all I have is almond milk and carrot juice and kombucha.”
“Kombucha?”
“Yeah. Do you like it?”
“I don’t know.”
“I was about to have some.” Collin opened a fridge that looked strangely bare. “It’s passion fruit. Want me to pour you some?”
“I, uh, sure. Why not?” George sat on the bar stool next to the counter, taking in the sparse-looking kitchen as Collin poured a pinkish concoction into two glasses. “So you and your grandmother live here?”
“No, Nana doesn’t live here. This ismyapartment.” Collin set a glass in front of George. “She has her own apartment next door.”
“You have your own apartment?” George studied the murky-looking beverage with uncertainty.
“Yeah. My own bachelor pad.” Collin laughed sardonically. “Not that it does me any good. I’m not much of a party guy. I guess Nana isn’t too worried I’ll get out of hand on my own.”
George took a tentative sniff of his drink. “What is this anyway?” he asked.
“Kombucha? Well, it’s a fermented probiotic drink.”
“Fermented?” George felt alarmed. “Is it alcoholic?”
“No, of course not.” Collin chuckled. “It’s like Greek yogurt or apple cider vinegar. Good for the gut.”
