“Oh. I don’t remember.” I twisted my hair into a rope and wound it into a high bun, looping the ends through the coiled mass to make it hold. “I was quite a demanding kid,huh?”
“You even picked the sort of tree that would go in thecourtyard.”
I concentrated on my memories but couldn’t locate the one in question. “What tree did Iwant?”
“Apalm.”
I grinned, dropping my hands from my hair. “Seriously? Howtropicalofme.”
“It would thrive inColorado.”
I wrinkled my nose. “But it would probably be aneyesore.”
“It’d be original, that’s for sure.” He tilted his head to the side. “A little like a girl in an all-malepack.”
“Hmm.” When he put it that way . . . Maybe a disruptive tree would do this place somegood.
“You also wanted a loose floorboard in your bedroom. Like the one you had at the foot of yourbed.”
That, I remembered. When I was six or seven, Everest and I had pried a wooden slat loose from my floor with one of my father’s work tools, and then we’d lined the shallow hollow with burlap. I stowed my diary inside, along with a treasured collection of Polaroid pictures—my Dad in his wolf form, a few silly selfies of Everest and me, one of my parents dancing in our living room, and several close-ups of August. I remembered this one shot of him, with the sun on his face and this faraway glint in his eyes. I’d labeled itTheDreamer.
When I’d first moved to LA, I’d look at it every night, but at some point, the sight of August just made me sad, so I’d shoved the Polaroid inside a shoe box along with the rest of my keepsakes. The next time I’d lifted the lid on that box was about three years later. A leak in our apartment had filled my box with dirty water, ruining the few mementos I’d carried fromBoulder.
I blinked out of the memory. “How did the talk go with yourdad?”
“I’d rather not discuss it inhere.”
Did he think the place was bugged? I didn’task.
August gestured to the door of the building, and I followed him out. He turned off all the lights before setting the alarm. I thought he’d tell me about his conversation outside, but he tipped his head toward the side of thewarehouse.
“Ooh.” I was sure my eyes lit up. “I get to see your man cave?” I rubbed my palms together like a littlekid.
“Man cave?” Hegrunted.
I flicked hisarm.
“Ouch. What was thatfor?”
“Every time you grunt, I’m flickingyou.”
“Are you now?” hemuttered.
“Uh-huh. It’ll make you take notice of how often you doit.”
He shook his head a little, but a smile softened his expression. “Should I remind you that inflicting bodily harm on your boss is majorly frownedupon?”
“Bodily harm?” I snorted. “I don’t think I could inflict much harm on thatimpressivebody of yours.” I winked athim.
He flicked myribs.
“What was that for?” I said, rubbing the spot. “It wasn’t a dig. Besides, I didn’t even come up with the descriptive term. That was all UncleTom.”
“You grunted,” he said matter-of-factly.
“I didnot.”
“Youdid.”
