Leo shakes his head, but I spot a ghost of a smile.
“The landscaper,” I say, eleven minutes into episode two.
“How can you possibly know that already?”
“He’s got a tan line from his watch on his left wrist, but he’s wearing his watch on his right. He switched it recently.” I set my plate on the coffee table and lean forward. “Why would you switch which wrist you wear your watch on unless you injured the dominant hand doing something you shouldn’t have? Like, say, strangling someone.”
Leo stares at me. “You got all that from tan lines.”
“I got all that from paying attention.”
The landscaper confesses at the forty-minute mark. I don’t gloat. Much.
“I thought you said you don’t watch much TV?” Leo says.
“I don’t.”
Leo turns to look at me, head tilted slightly. There’s something in his expression I don’t like. Curiosity. The kind that comes with follow-up questions. “Do you read lots of crime drama then?”
“Ah, not particularly.”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I’ve been sloppy.
I’ve been so busy enjoying the evening, and I have to admit, showing off slightly to Leo, that I let my guard slip.
Have I been too much? The question surfaces like an old reflex, the mental equivalent of touching a bruise to check if it still hurts.
It always still hurts.
I know what happens when I stop editing myself around people. The pattern is well-documented, verified across multiple data points.
I’ve had boyfriends who found it charming for a while. The observations, the deductions, the way I can’t seem to stop pulling at threads. Then, charming tipped into something else. Tiring, usually. Or intimidating. Or just…a lot.
“You’re exhausting, Archie.” The words don’t belong to any of those exes. They belong to someone who knew me better than all of them combined.
But I’m fairly sure Leo has been looking at me with admiration, not exasperation, as I explained my theories.
However, now he’s looking at me, waiting for an explanation I’m not going to give.
I need to redirect this. Fast.
“Actually, while I’m thinking of it,” I say. “Would you be able to pop over to my apartment and grab some things for me?”
“Sure. I can go tomorrow morning before dog walking. What do you need?”
“There’s a drawer in my nightstand. Second from the top. If you could just grab some items in there.”
Leo goes very still. His face does something fascinating. A flicker of… Is that embarrassment?
Oh.
Oh, this is delightful.
It appears Leo already knows the delights my second drawer contains.
“The second drawer,” he repeats, very carefully.
