A red-hot poker of annoyance jabbed between Bennett’s ribs. “Understood,” he gritted out.
“Good man. Talk soon, Ben. Happy Thanksgiving.”
“Bennett,” he corrected again, but David had already hung up.
Tossing his phone onto the desk, Bennett ran both hands back through his hair, where his fingers got tangled in his hair tie. He yanked it out, ignoring the sharp tug of pain as he ripped hair out at the same time, and flung it aside.
This was normally where he’d get himself and Fowler into a room together to brainstorm ideas. But while the townhouse was nice, the walls were closing in on him. He needed to stretch his legs. Take in some fresh air. Get out of his own head.
He drove to a nearby deli and ordered a sandwich to go—on second thought, he should probably get two. A few minutes later, he was back in his car with his order, intending to head to the waterfront or a park, but instead, he accidentally found himself typing Sandro’s address into his maps app.
That explained why he’d ordered two sandwiches.
The townhouses in Sandro’s complex all looked identical in varying shades of gray. What made one different from another was the color of its front and garage doors, the landscaping, and in some cases, the holiday decorations that looked like they were just beginning to pop up—an inflatable here, tree ornaments the size of his head hanging from bare branches there, and at the end of Sandro’s row, a man on a ladder installing exterior Christmas lights on a house.
Wait. Wait, was that Sandro?
Up on a ladder?
Without anyone spotting him?
“Jesus fucking Christ.” Bennett parked at the curb, threw his door open hard enough that it bounced back and almost caught him in the knee, and slammed it shut behind him. “What the fucking fuck, Ro?”
Sandro stared at him from the top of the ladder, dark eyes unmistakably amused. “What’s your problem?”
“You’re up a ladder without anyone keeping an eye on you,” Bennett growled, grabbing the ladder in both hands to keep it steady. “That’s what’s my problem.”
“Dabbs was here until a few minutes ago, but he had to go pick up his boyfriend at the airport.”
“Then why didn’t you come down?”
“Because I’m almost done.” Sandro waved behind him. “Only a couple of houses left.”
“Why are you putting lights up over here? You live over there.” Bennett tipped his head in the direction of Sandro’s house.
“I own the whole complex,” Sandro said, clipping the lights to the gutters. “And putting up the lights is a service I provide.”
“You own this complex?” Bennett looked around, taking in his surroundings in a way he hadn’t when he’d dropped Sandro off after Eli had abandoned him at the coffee shop. The townhouses looked newish, likely built sometime in the past ten to fifteen years. There were several rows of townhomes as well as a building that looked as if it had been subdivided into apartments. Sandro’s row faced a large park with a pond, a playground, a basketball court, a baseball diamond, and a fenced-in area for dogs to run around off-leash. On his way in, Bennett had passed a strip mall with a small grocery store, a bakery, an ATM, a dry cleaner, a dental office, and a post office.
It was like a town within a city.
“You really went and put down roots, huh?” Bennett muttered, mostly to himself.
That was Sandro, though. He’d grown up surrounded by family and extended family, always knowing his place in the world and how he fit into other people’s lives. On his visits to Tobermory with Sandro, Bennett had witnessed the tight-knit clan that was the Zanettis and how easily Sandro fit among them. How he’d thrived when surrounded by loved ones.
“Dabbs lives in this complex too?”
“Him and Bellamy.” Sandro descended the ladder, moved it back a couple of feet, and climbed up again, string of lights clutched in one hand. Bennett followed, still holding the ladder steady. “They share a house with Dabbs’ dogs and Bellamy’s cat over that way. And Eli’s renting one of the apartments until a townhouse becomes available.”
“How often does that happen?”
“Every once in a while. People come and go, just like anywhere else.”
Sandro descended the ladder again, moved it, climbed back up.
“Should you even be on a ladder?” Bennett asked him. “Isn’t there a clause in your contract preventing you from doing stupid shit?”
Laughing, Sandro peered down at him, and Bennett wanted to sink into his smile.
