“Why don’t you just knock on his door and ask for them back?”
This time I pause. Of course that would be the first thing the logical Biba comes up with. I could walk back over to Boen’s and ask for my clothing and we can have a discussion and I can say all the things I want to say to him.
But that’s Biba, not me. Plus… “He was mean to me,” I admit in a low voice. “I don’t want to talk to him.”
“Why?” she asks again. “Wait, don’t say another word. I’ll get Demi. We’ll be there soon.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I think an intervention is necessary. But I’m not having another of those silly fires.” With that, she hangs up.
Biba arrives within the hour with Demi in tow. I’ve had enough time to shower and dress and take Rusty for a quick walk around the block, shooting Boen’s house with my best death glare as I go by.
It still doesn’t help the twinge of regret.
“Who did you have sex with?” Demi demands as we settle in the living room with Rusty staring at Biba with his hang-dog eyes, willing her to part with a piece of the scone they brought with them. I was glad to see the pastry box from Pain au Chocolate almost as much as I was glad to see them since I hadn’t managed breakfast yet.
“I didn’t even get that far.” Biba heaves a sigh as she covertly drops a sizable crumb for Rusty. “What neighbour? I had no idea there was anyone sex-worthy around here.”
“There was that guy from the bar the other night,” Demi points out, waving hands full of coffee and pastry. “The one with the good hair. Didn’t he step in poop?”
Even the thought of poo-covered Boen can’t bring a smile to my face. “He did, and yes, it was him.”
“I thought you didn’t like him?”
“I didn’t until we spent yesterday afternoon watching the ball game at Mrs. Gretchen’s.” My words are punctuated by a sharp knock on the door.
Demi wags a finger at herself and Biba with a quizzical expression. “Someone else coming?” Biba asks.
“Is that him?” Demi hisses.
“I doubt it.” But I still jump to my feet with a tingle of expectation in my belly and hurry to the door. “Mrs. Gretchen,” I say with surprise. “Is everything all right?”
“Thanks to you it is.” Without waiting for an invitation, she slips by me and heads for the living room.
“Is Mr. Cullen okay?”
She dismisses my question with a wave. “Oh, he’s fine. I gave him breakfast and he’s long gone. I saw these two ladies show up and wanted to say hello.” She beams at Biba and Demi before turning back to me. “And thank you again. Dawson said you were at the door to check up on me.”
“I heard a thump.”
Mrs. Gretchen adds another wrinkle to her forehead as she frowns. “You heard him from here?”
“I was at Boen’s,” I admit.
“Ah. But the two of you this morning...” She perches on the edge of the chair I’d been sitting in. “I may be missing something.”
“I think we’re all missing something,” Biba says. “Start from the beginning.”
I sit cross-legged on the floor, happy that I have carpet, so I don’t have to deal with a flashback of Boen’s hardwood and everything that happened on it. “Boen stepped in Rusty’s poo before I had a chance to pick it up. He hates me and my dog. But he’s cute, and he’s been slowly growing on me for the last week,” I recite like I’m reading a report. “Yesterday we hung out at Mrs. Gretchen’s and drank too much—what was it that you gave us to drink?” I demand.
She shrugs with a girlish smile. “My version of Long Island Iced Tea.”
“Did it involve any of your schnapps?” Demi asks weakly.
“Quite a bit,” Mrs. Gretchen says proudly. “I thought it might help loosen the two of them up.”
“That worked quite well. After we left, I went to Boen’s, and we—”
