“If that’s Beau writing you, I’d like a four-letter word or twelve with him.” She goes all grabby hands for the phone, causing me, instinctively, to use my significant height advantage to play keep away.
“No, no. It’s not,” I say. She narrows her eyes. “It’snot.I swear.”
She considers this.
“Okay… I better not catch you talking to him. No second chances. No closure. That boy doesn’t deserve closure.”
The edges of my lips pull up. “You’re right, he doesn’t. And I don’t deserve you. G’night Zo.”
I lean in to kiss her cheek.
“‘Night, O. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
I let her out, standing in the doorway until the elevator comes, and she leaves with a final wave.
Then I come back inside and open my mail app.
From: George Knight
To: Owen Wilde
Date: December 20, 10:36 PM
Subject: NOT an emergency
Owen,
Hi. George here (as you probably guessed from the sending address). Sorry to bother you. Just wanted to give you a tiny, inconsequential heads up. You may be receiving some correspondence from the Moonlake Village Volunteer Fire Department tomorrow. I asked if it was really necessary, but the tiny, but deeply intimidating firefighter who seemed to be in charge insisted it was protocol whenever the department makes a call to a house.
I DID NOT SET YOUR CABIN ON FIRE. I just want to make sure that is 100% clear.
I may, however, have attempted to light a fire that produced what is apparently an alarming amount of smoke, much of which poured out of the chimney and caused your lovely neighbor across the lake to alert the aforementioned authorities.
I have aired out the cabin, and the smell is mostly gone. And I will replace the throw pillow (in retrospect, attempting to smother the fire by stuffing it into the wood-burning stove was probably ill-advised—but in my defense, I really have no fucking idea what I am doing.)
George Knight
I’m still staringat the email, trying to decide whether I’m shocked or amused, when another notification comes in.
From: George Knight
To: Owen Wilde
Date: December 20, 10:39 PM
Subject: PS
I’m really, really sorry. Please forgive me. I promise you I am normally a model houseguest.
George
An unexpected laughbubbles out of me. Amused, definitely amused. And a little surprised—I don’t know what I thought an email from George would look like, but it wasn’t this.
And something else too. Charmed, maybe. I’m a little bit charmed.
I type out a quick response, thanking him for his email and letting the poor guy off the hook.
I set my phone on the nightstand and, after a long, long day of what I assume was Zoe’s attempt to get me out of my head, I go to sleep, feeling lighter than I have in a long time.
