In answer, Dolly maintains eye contact with me and pushes her paw into Reid’s chest. He grumbles.
“Fine,” he says, and then, “Just get in my lap or whatever, god, quit it with the weird mind games.”
“Just pet her,” I say.
Reid gives me a look as though I’ve suggested something unforgivable.
“That’s just what she wants me to do,” he mutters. “Then she’ll think she can getonme, and do that weird purr-nuzzle where she kind of bites my hand, and when she gets really happy and starts kneading. Her claws are so fucking huge, you don’t even know. Oh! Hey! GIDEON!”
Dolly’s claws come out at the sudden volume increase, and Reid inhales sharply.
“Yeah?”
“We got mail. It’s from Elliott. You should read it.”
“Oh, is it his save the date?”
“Read it!Ow, you monster.” Dolly chirps, and I leave her and Reid to their negotiations.
In the kitchen, Gideon’s frowning at an off-white envelope addressed to Mr. Gideon Bell and Mr. Reid Bell, and even though I haven’t seen Elliott in twenty years, I like him already.
When Gideon pulls the card out, a second piece of paper flutters to the ground. For a long moment he looks at the card, then picks up the slip of paper and reads it.
“June twenty-first,” he says, then glances up at me. Suddenly, I don’t know where to put my hands. Gideon clears his throat. “You busy?”
“On June twenty-first?”
“This says I get a plus one,” he says, and looks back at the card. “If you’d—um. Like to come. It’s in Boston.”
This is definitely quiet and subdued, even for Gideon, and it’s making me wonder if something is wrong and if I’m the something, so I plaster on my smiliest smile and beam at him.
“Sure!” I enthuse. “Sounds great!”
“Did you see the note?” hollers Reid. Gideon rolls his eyes and glances at the other piece of paper again.
“What’s he want?” Gideon hollers backs.
“You know you could go into the same room,” I point out.
“Call him and find out,” Reid says, ignoring my great suggestion. “Do it now!”
Gideon frowns at the paper, then frowns at me, then frowns in the general direction of Reid.
“Later,” he tells me, shoving the note into his pocket, and then he smiles but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You hungry?”
* * *
“How jealous shouldI be of these prayer requests?” I ask Gideon a few days later, my head against his arm. I push one toe against the railing of his back porch, and the swing we’re sitting in wobbles a little.
He grunts as an answer. He’s been doing that a lot this week. I try not to get anxious about this one, but it feels like something is up and I hate it.
“And how come there’s a huge hullabaloo over Sadie getting laid and nothing but passive-aggressive matchmaking attempts for you?” I go on.
“You know why,” he says.
“They can’t possibly think we’re not fucking,” I say, and Gideon turns the faintest pink. I can’t help how much it delights me. “I mean, look at you.”
That gets a huff and the world’s tiniest smile, so I reach down and squeeze his right thigh. It’s warm for late February, somewhere in the upper fifties, and Gideon insists he saw a golden eagle yesterday and wants me to see it, too.
