“The Showbox,” Cherry said, staring at the neon pink flyer. “Oh God. I remember this show. I’d just found out I was pregnant with Daniel. I don’t think I’ve ever seen this flyer.”
“It’s yours if you want it.”
“That’s...” She nodded a couple of times, gripping it tightly in her fingers as she stared at it. Then she looked up with a soft smile. “You’re a good kid, to come apologize to me. That was respectful, and I appreciate it.”
Finally. I’d done one thing right. At least, I thought so. Then Iknewso when I got a series of texts from Daniel a couple hours after I left the dance studio.
Daniel: Birdie
Daniel: Birdie
Daniel: Birdie
Me: You rang?
Daniel: Mom told me you came to see her.
Me: Does that mean you guys are speaking now?
Daniel: Yes. Do you know how cool you are?
Me: Not very.
Daniel: Wrong. This is you: ( )
Me: You flatter me, sir.
Daniel: This is me when I think about u:
(>‘-’)> \_( .”)> <( ._.)-`
Me: What is that? Someone having a stroke?
Daniel: It’s dancing, Birdie.
Me: I warned you I wasn’t cool.
Daniel: I never listen to warnings. Life is better when you wing it.
“Why don’t you tell me about myself?”
—Miss Mary Russell,The Beekeeper’s Apprentice(1994)
26
A lot of things were going right with my life now. I was back in Cherry’s good graces (thank goodness). I was mostly sleeping okay (at least, I hadn’t dozed off at work). And I was getting used to having the house to myself (Grandpa had texted me photos of him and Cass holding up armfuls of rainbow trout).
But there were also a few things thatweren’tright. Mona was always too busy to talk. The Raymond Darke case was stagnating. And after I went to see Cherry in the dance studio, two entire work shifts came and went and Daniel never once tried to kiss me.
Was he friendly? Yes. Was my stomach filled with butterflies every time he smiled at me? Yes. Were we sharing breakfast pie at the diner? Drivin’ Me Cocoa (chocolate silk and whipped cream, dusted with cocoa), Buttermilk Kisses (buttermilk pie topped with candy kisses), and King of the Forest Fruits (a medley of berries topped with a crown of golden, spun sugar).
But were we kissing? Putting our hands all over each other? Whispering sweet nothings into each other’s ears?
No.
Even our sleuthing gig had come to a sputtering standstill. We’d all but given up on the stupid spreadsheet. And when Tuesday rolled around, the day Raymond Darke normally visited the hotel, instead of us pulling another James Bond stakeout outside of room 514, Daniel texted me to say he had something to do in his cohousing community—that he’d asked other employees to keep an eye out for a man in a baseball cap at seven p.m. Turned out, Darke never showed. It wasn’t a huge surprise. We knew Ivanov was flying out of Seattle since that day we followed him to Ye Olde Curiosity Shop, so I wasn’t sure why this disappointed me so much. I think because the mystery that had bonded us together was now fizzling out.
And I worriedwewere too.
