“There’s no way. My grandmother would never sell. And I don’t see Bernie giving him her penthouse to be his bachelor pad.”
Felix acknowledges the point with a shrug, without looking remotely convinced.
“But?” I prompt.
“The timing feels suspicious. He talks about wanting the building and then he’s dead.” He snaps his fingers.
“Yeah, but from an allergy attack.”
He holds open the door of the thrift shop and I lunge past him, desperate for a hit of air conditioning.
“Allegedly,” Felix says when we’re both inside.
Is the chill coursing across my skin a premonition, or rapidly drying sweat? It’s too soon to tell.
I follow him to the nearest rack of clothing, though I doubt any of these old T-shirts are funeral appropriate.
“There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you,” Felix says as he flicks through the hangers.
I nod, trying not to let my imagination run away with me. It’s probably something about blended families, as opposed toDo you want to grab dinner sometime?
“You’re really into this?”
I’m going to need him to be a lot more specific. “This thrift store?”
“The game. The castle. All of it.”
It doesn’t sound like a trick question. Nevertheless, I follow up my “yeah” with a wary, “So are you.”
“I know,” he immediately agrees.
“So… we’re on the same page?”
“For sure. And—I’m glad. That we’re both here.” A sidelong glance from under those long lashes makes my heart beat faster. “Anything could happen, don’t you think? Down the road.”
It feels like jumping the gun to speculate about the future when we haven’t even gone out for coffee. Buy me a cold brew first, my dude. I shrug.
“I mean after theypass on,” Felix says, dropping his voice.
“Did you seriously ask me that, Mr. Gloom and Doom?” So much for being in sync.
“Sorry! It’s just with Claude and his sister and then the other guy… everything feels shaky. I love those guys, but I’m not sure paperwork is their strong suit, you know? People get ugly when it’s time to split up property.”
“They have a lawyer, though. That’s like Mervyn’s whole job.”
“You’re right. Didn’t mean to catastrophize at you. There’s just no one else I can talk to. Aboutthat.”
The qualification feels like a slipup: a thing you say when you mean the opposite. Maybe I’m not the only one running low on people my age who are in the same time zone and willing to listen.
Felix is looking at the ground like he wants to dig a hole with his eyes and disappear. “And I knew you’d have smart things to say,” he mumbles, forcing me to lean closer.
“What was that?” I cup a hand to my ear.
“I said ‘I knew you’d have something smartass to say.’”
“Ah. It’s nice to be appreciated.”
“Maybe we should have lunch sometime and talk about it.” His eyes go wide, like he surprised himself with that offer too.
