Thin Mustache Man folded the paper, pushed off the car, and started toward her.
I stood on the wet concrete by the door, soaking up the morning sun.
She picked up the paper. “Hi, Frankie.”
I turned to see Frankie coming up to her. “Peyton, there’s a great article on the Middle East in the opinion section today.”
“Thanks.” She unfolded the paper and ambled back to the building, reading the front page.
Frankie followed her down the path. “That exercise you suggested is working great.”
“Good. Keep it up.” She kept her eyes glued to the paper.
“Maybe wanna get lunch today?”
Say no, was the mental message I sent Peyton.
“Sorry. I can’t.”
I breathed easier.
“Uh… Okay.”
It didn’t take a detective’s badge to catch him checking her out.
I let both of them pass before turning around myself.
Peyton stopped at the elevator.
“I need to get my steps in, so I’ll take the stairs.” Frankie continued past her down the hall and then turned. “Charleston?”
She shook her head just as the elevator arrived. “Nope.”
I joined her as the door opened.
She punched the button. “It’s going to be a nice day.”
“What was that about?”
“What?”
“That Frankie guy.”
“He’s trying to guess where I’m from.”
“You’ll tell him, but not me?”
She shifted her eyes to the floor. “I haven’t told him anything.”
“What do you know about him?”
“He works at a grocery store near work, I think.”
“He’s a creep.”
“He’s harmless.” The door opened on her floor, and we exited. “Maybe I should get his Social Security number so you can do a background check.”
I followed her down the hallway. “That would be a good start.”
