“Zo, I don’t think I’m up for that tonight. I’m pretty beat.”
She makes a tsking sound. “O, I have to go to this thing. Jonathan’s invited half of Luca and Cory’s wedding guests—everyone who’s in the city, basically. The closer the wedding gets, the more stressed Luca is, and I think he thinks if he leans on Cory any harder, there won’tbea wedding. Anyway, I promised him I’d be there for moral support.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. And I mean it. “Make it up to you tomorrow?”
“I’m gonna hold you to that, mister.”
I chuckle, she gives me a cartoonishmwah, and she’s gone.
I lean back against the wall and let out a long, slow breath.
I really am beat. I ought to head back to the apartment.
Instead of moving toward the exit, though, I look back at my phone and open up my email.
From: Owen Wilde
To: George Knight
Date: December 21, 4:10 PM
Subject: Thank you
I found Gallery 745. It’s incredible.
I’m not evenhalfwayto the exit when a new emailcomes in.
From: George Knight
To: Owen Wilde
Date: December 21, 4:14 PM
Re: Thank you
I’m glad you liked it.
I really don’t needto reply. There’s no particular reason to reply. I probably shouldn’t reply…
From: Owen Wilde
To: George Knight
Date: December 21, 4:16 PM
Re: Thank you
How’s it going there?
Fine.I just wantto reply. It’s kind of nice having someone new to talk to. Email with. Whatever.
A responsecomes back a moment later.
It’s just a photo. A fire crackling in the woodstove on myfour-season porch, late afternoon golden sunlight spilling across the frozen lake in the background. And a pair of feet, propped up on my ottoman in the foreground. In a pair of library checkout card novelty socks.
I stand in the middle of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, grinning like an idiot and trying very hard not to notice how warm and cozy the image makes me feel.
DECEMBER 22
