“I’m going to head off,” Becca said and gestured to the door. “I haven’t been home for a while. I’ve got things to do, you know.”
“Er, yes, unless you want something to eat? I have a pizza in the fridge. I could heat it up.”
“No no, I had a big breakfast with Finn and Cillian. But thanks.”
I nodded and glanced at Mitch. He’d retrieved his phone and was staring at the screen.
“So…you’ll be okay?” Becca asked, flicking her attention to Mitch.
“Yes. Of course.”
“Sure?” Her eyes narrowed.
Had she seen more than I thought she had?
“I’m sure.” I walked to the door with her and spoke quietly. “He’s a good guy. I think he understands me.”
“I think he is, too, but…”
“But?” Please don’t let there be abut. Not when my hopes were up. This man was different to the others. I could tell.
“He doesn’t play by the same rules most people do.” Becca shook her head.
“He’s a cop.” I frowned. “Don’t all cops play by the rules?” They had to. It was their job, the law.
“I guess that makes it easier for himnotto follow rules. Easier for him to weave around them.” She flattened her mouth into a tight line. “Be careful with Mitch.”
“I don’t understand.”
Becca squeezed my arm. “But he’s a very good friend of Finn and Cillian, and I trust their judgment in people one hundred percent.” She paused. “You call if you need me.”
“Thanks.” I gave her a hug. “I’m just relieved you’re okay. I don’t know what I would have done if anything had happened to you.”
She squeezed me tight for a moment then slipped from the apartment, leaving me confused by her assessment of Mitch. She liked him, I could tell, but there was clearly something, an undercurrent, that had flown a red flag she’d felt compelled to mention was there.
Huh, as if she wasn’t fond of flying red flags. Those twins she’d set herself up with were trouble. You could just tell, but with their Irish charm and quick smiles they got away with it. Red flags, they were red carpets!
“You mentioned pizza,” Mitch said.
“Yes.” I smiled at him. “Want some?”
“Yeah, I reckon I do.”
I busied about in the kitchen area, happy that he wasn’t rushing off, and put a roasted vegetable pizza in the oven.
He picked up the box. “What’s this?”
“Pizza.”
“No pepperoni?” He pulled a face.
“I don’t eat meat.” I laughed. “Sorry about that.”
“A cult thing?”
“No, a taste thing. Can’t stand the texture.” I inhaled. “Nothing I do now has anything to do with The Way Forward. I’ve spent a long time trying to push it all out of my life, my memories, and my psyche.”
He nodded and set the box down. “How well do you think you’ve done with that? Getting rid of the bullshit?”
