“Dogs do smile,” he says. He knows this because my Amelia read him something about it after he told her that wasn’t a thing. “Harold must like you,” he adds.
“Really?” she says with surprise.
I smile even wider to reassure her that I’m willing to let bygones be bygones if she will, too. Miguel nods, then takes a sip of the pale liquid in the glass he’s holding.
“You know, I didn’t even ask you if you would have preferred red,” she twitters. She suddenly seems nervous, and for once, I don’t think I’m the cause. “I have a cabernet. Or sparkling water if you don’t drink—oh goodness, I didn’t even ask you that, either.”
“This is good,” he grunts, sounding way too much like his prehistoric ancestors.
“Did Fiona show you the balcony yet?” Amelia Mae asks Miguel.
“The balcony?”
“It’s like the one I yelled at you from, but nicer. We have plants and stuff up there.”
“Oh.” He seems uncertain. Probably because he hasn’t spent much time around younger humans since he was onehimself—even when he wasn’t always running from customers, he left the kids up to my Amelia and Beth, who used to run Story Hour before she left to have her own baby. “No, your mother hasn’t mentioned it.”
“Amelia Mae’s right. It’s lovely,” says Fiona, who seems unable to hide how uncomfortable she feels saying her own daughter’s name in front of him.
Miguel must pick up on this because he gives her a reassuring smile. It probably pains him to hear it, but maybe it’s getting easier already.
“Would you like to see the view?” she asks. “Maybe we can keep talking shop up there.”
“Sure,” he agrees.
Amelia Mae stands and claps her hands. “You kids have fun—I need to pee. Harry, think you can deal with the stairs again? If you go with them, I can meet you up there.”
I’mnotsure; it’s a lot of up and down, and I’m more worn out than I care to admit. But she’s already disappeared, and I really should keep an eye on Miguel, just in case he says something stupid to Fiona again. So, I follow them to the second floor and down a long hallway to a small study that opens onto the balcony.
In the study, Miguel stops to examine a tall bookshelf that’s much like the ones in the other Amelia’s bedroom.
“This is my office,” says Fiona from behind him.
Miguel turns to her. “I don’t mean to pry—I just can’t help but check out your selection.”
“Never trust a person without bookshelves filled to the brim,” she says, and he laughs lightly.
“Agreed. Ah,” he exclaims, spotting a thick book on hershelf. “Brief Interviews with Hideous Men—that’s one of my recent favorites.”
“ ‘One never knew, after all,’ ” she says.
“ ‘Now did one now did one now did one,’ ” he recites.
As they smile at each other, I’m reminded that there’s a special language shared between two people who have read and loved the same book.
“Admittedly, it doesn’t hold a candle toI, Edward,” he adds.
“Different style from my brother’s—but thank you. Not that I can take credit, of course.”
“Your brother is a genius. Safe to assume it runs in the family.”
“Genius is overrated, and you’re kind.” She turns and slides open the glass door, and they step onto the balcony. I’m about to join them when Miguel pulls the screen door in front of my face. “It’s way too hot out here, Harold,” he says. “Stay in the air-conditioning and go find your friend.”
“We can keep the glass door cracked to keep an ear on them,” says Fiona.
I know she most wants to keep an ear onme.I’m willing to overlook that, though. Because for all his nerves, Miguel may not be completely happy right now—but he’s content. And that’s owing to my stellar taste in potential mates; I just knowit.
“So…why did Vik tell me to ask you about your brother?” he asks after they’ve sat down in the deck chairs. The patio overlooks the city, which is starting to blink like a yard full of fireflies now that the sun’s slipping in the sky.
