“Did you make sure he’s still alive?” Callie asks.
Flynn whips his head in her direction. “Should I?”
She chuckles, pulling her tea bag from the cup and setting it on a ceramic leaf-shaped plate between us. “No. If it’s his time, it’s his time.”
“Don’t let me interrupt you,” Flynn says, sitting on the sofa and kissing the kitten’s head.
Finding a guy who likes cats wasn’t on my list, but here we are, and I’m not mad about it.
“Sorry,” I say. “What did you ask me?”
“Have you lived in Minnesota your whole life?” Callie asks.
“I’m from India. My parents adopted me when I was three. I grew up in California.”
“What an interesting coincidence. Did Flynn tell you he was three when he went into foster care?” She eyes Flynn.
I shake my head, glancing at him over my shoulder.
He doesn’t look at us, focusing on Loki.
“What brought you to Minnesota?” She returns her attention to me.
“It’s not California.”
Callie laughs. “Very true. How long have you been here? Clearly long enough to learn the history of this area well enough to be a bike tour guide.”
“I’ve been here three years. When I first moved here, I worked as a barista, and I still do that in the winter. I have a knack for latte art.” My gaze flits to Flynn, and I half expect him to be looking at his phone, but he’s not.
He eyes me with an expression of wonder. I get that giddy feeling again.
“On a whim,” I say, “I took a bike tour, and that’s when I decided it might be the best job ever.”
Callie laughs. “Oh, I love that about you. It’s so genuine and innocent. There’s nothing pretentious about it. Just pure joy for something.” She sighs. “I miss those days.”
Her response evokes so many questions, but I don’t know her well enough to ask them.
“How old are you, if I may ask?” Callie sips her tea.
“Twenty-six.”
“What did you do in California after high school? Did you go to college?”
Flynn laughs softly, and Callie glances at him. “What’s so funny?”
He shrugs. “Well, who goes to college to be a bike tour guide or a barista?”
“A lot of people have degrees they don’t use,” Callie says.
“That’s why I didn’t finish high school,” he says. “I knew I didn’t need a degree.”
I roll my lips together to keep from grinning while Callie studies him. It’s surprising that she doesn’t correct him. College is not the same as high school. But after several seconds, she nods. “Perhaps you’re smarter than my husband gives you credit for, Flynn.”
“Will you tell him that?” he asks.
Callie returns a sincere smile. “I will.”
“Did you go to college?” I ask Callie.
