“Definitely. Brittany said she had no idea what it meant, but I would guess it has to do with their operation, maybe theirsupplier or a location. I got the sense she was worried. Whatever trouble they are in must be serious.”Which I can relate to, I thought but didn’t say. Bray wanted me to crack their case but part of me wanted to … help them.
“I’ll look into it,” he said. “May I?” he asked, and pointed at my feet.
I nodded and scooted up the couch to make room for him. I wasn’t sure what he planned to do, but it certainly wasn’t that he’d gently lift my legs and sit with my feet in his lap.
A warmth filled my face at the feel of my calves pressed into his firm thigh. It grew hotter when he rested one hand on my shin. He tossed the bag of ice onto the coffee table and gently pulled off my dirty sock.
“Oof,” he said at the blotchy combo of purple from the bruises and pink from the ice having chilled my skin.
I winced at it myself. It was not pretty. “And you’re going to make me go to work in this condition.”
He gently cupped my heel in his hand and began wrapping the bandage. “Hopefully it’s just for a day.”
I watched him gingerly wrap my ankle a few times. He pulled the bandage taut but did so gently enough not to hurt.
“How am I supposed to go to work? I don’t even have a shoe, Bray,” I said when I remembered the ghost had pulled it off in the alley.
“I’ll get you a new pair.”
“How do you know what size I wear?”
“It’s in your file.”
My face warmed again just as he looped the bandage under the sole of my foot. I squirmed and tried to keep still.
“Are you ticklish?” he asked. I did not miss the hint of levity in his voice.
“What, that’s not in my file alongside my favorite color and list of known allergies?” I fought to keep a smile out of my voice and off my face.
“Do you have allergies?”
“Cats, actually. My mom brought one home when I was six, and I broke out in hives. We had to take it back to the shelter.” The memory rolled off my tongue before I even knew I’d released it from my keep. I never talked about my mother. And instead of feeling like I’d exposed some sacred, protected truth to someone unworthy, I felt a warmth at the sympathetic look on Bray’s face.
“No cats. Noted. That must have been tough as a kid, to get a pet and have it taken away.”
In truth, I didn’t remember it as being sad. I just remembered cuddling the kitten and becoming incredibly itchy and struggling to breathe. My mother had hugged me and kissed me and apologized for things I hadn’t understood at the time. The whole ordeal had upset her much more than anyone else.
“It worked out,” I told Bray. “We went back and got a dog the next day.”
He laughed. “You seem like much more of a dog person.”
“I would love to have a dog,” I said with a smile, which quickly fell.
The reason for my being unable to own a pet settled between us like a cold front.
Bray cleared his throat and finished wrapping my ankle. The end of the spool was Velcro, which he tightly fastened to hold it in place. “There,” he said. “Take it off when you shower, obviously, but otherwise, wearing it should help support it.”
I examined his handiwork and decided not to tell him I already knew how to wrap an ankle and was perfectly capable of doing it myself, because doing that would have denied me the opportunity to feel his hands touching me, something I enjoyed more than I wanted to admit.
“Thanks.”
“You bet.”
We sat there, me lounged back with my feet in his lap, and I briefly imagined we were the couple we’d pretended to be inthe coffeeshop, enjoying our Sunday afternoon at home together. Perhaps we were watching a football game or a movie or simply basking in each other’s company.
The fantasy snapped when he lifted my feet and stood. “Okay. Time to get you home.”
He left me sitting there, sadly wondering if I would ever have a life with that kind of Sunday in it.
