“Because if you make him smaller, Mickey, I will drive up here myself and it won’t be donuts in this bag.”
“I hear you,” I say. “Benji is not going to get smaller. Not because of me.”
He holds my gaze long enough to make me look away. Then the charm comes back, the way a light switches on. He holds the open donut bag closer to me. I take a chocolate donut with coconut on top and he grabs another glazed.
“Fantastic,” he says. “Now that we’ve got that settled, tell me what you know about these open houses in the area because the four-bedroom in Rosemary Beach has bones and I need a second opinion on the foundation work.”
“Are you serious about getting into the real estate business here?”
“I’m serious about being where the opportunity is,” Dante says. “And the opportunity is here. The 30A market is growing faster than the inventory and nobody is servicing the luxury tier properly. The numbers don’t lie.”
“What about Miami?”
“Miami will always be there. Miami doesn’t need me there year-round. Benji might.”
“I hope you find a way to make it work. I really do.”
After an hour of good conversation, Dante stands up and pulls out his phone. “Before I go,” he says. “Benji will never forgive me if I don’t bring proof of today. Hold up a donut.”
“You want a photo of us together?”
“Benji operates on evidence. If I tell him I came to see you and we ate donuts together, he’ll want to see it. If I don’t have a photo, it didn’t happen. That’s Benji’s law.”
I hold up the chocolate donut. Dante comes around the counter and crouches next to my chair and holds up his glazed and takes the photo with his arm extended. He checks it, nods once, and pockets the phone.
“I’ll send it to him after I leave. Let him lose his mind on his own time.”
“Dante, you’re a good friend to Benji. You’re welcome here anytime. Come by and see me next time you’re in town.”
“You can bet on it. Glad we had this talk. See you soon.” He smiles and walks into the elevator.
After Dante leaves, I sit at the window. The stars are already out, and the bar noise drifts up through the floor. My phone buzzes twenty minutes later. Benji has seen the photo.
Benji:THAT SHIRT COSTS THREE HUNDRED DOLLARS AND HE’S GETTING POWDERED SUGAR ON IT!
Benji:Also I love that you two are eating donuts together. This is the best photo I’ve ever seen. I’m framing it. I love it!
Benji:How was he? Was he nice to you? Did he interrogate you? He interrogated you, didn’t he? He does that. He acts like he’s my older brother.
Mickey:He was good. We talked. He ate three donuts.
Benji:They were supposed to be for you!
I put the phone down. Dante’s words are still in my ears.
Don’t make Benji small. Show it in every room. Not just the ones with a lock on the door.
I meant what I said to him. But meaning it in this loft with the door closed is easy. Meaning it at the bar on a Saturday night with strangers watching is something else. And I know the difference.
Dante’s right. He’s right about all of it. But Dante lives in Miami where a man in eyeliner is normal and nobody looks twice.
The Panhandle is not Miami.
Chapter 39: Benji
Mickey called late last night. The mobility shop needs the truck one more day, something with the accelerator calibration. He’d already reserved a rental at the terminal counter under my name.
“I wanted to pick you up at the airport,” he said.
