She licked his fingers, but Diem seemed far away, stuck inside his head, lost in those thoughts that had been taking him hostage lately. The ones I couldn’t see. The finger-licking and doggy whines often meant Echo was checking in on her charge, but Diem didn’t break his trance or reassure her like he normally might.
I dug through a pile of change in the middle console, found a dated penny, and presented it to my boyfriend.
He blinked from his daze and frowned at the copper coin. “What is this?”
“A penny for your thoughts. You’re zoned out, and as much as I pride myself in being able to read your mind, it’s blocked. Kitty says when that happens that I’m not looking hard enough, but I swear, I’m looking, D, but that door is not letting me in. Open up.”
My clever humor didn’t even earn me a tiny smile, and he ignored the coin. “I’m just thinking.”
“I can see that. About?”
“Nothing.”
“You know that’s technically impossible, right? The brain can’t actually turn off. Even in sleep we think.”
He didn’t respond.
Diem had a lot going on. He had increased his therapy sessions with Dr. Peterson recently and was taking baby steps toward sobriety. He had shared minimally about his AA meeting and lunch with Aslan,but Diem wasn’t a sharer on a good day, and those events were private. My boyfriend tended to process at his own pace, in his own time, on his own level.
Pushing never worked, so I let it go and dropped the penny back in the coin collection.
When he dug a pack of Skittles from the glove box and crunched through the entire pack without sharing, I figured he was fighting cravings of one kind or another. I didn’t even give him shit for harboring snacks without my knowledge. I wasn’t a fan of Skittles.
I abandoned the thin profile and got lost in a text exchange with Memphis. My best friend was at work and as bored as me. He’d recently started dating Jeweler Joshua, whom I had met six months ago when a dying man in an alley gave us a mysterious playing card.
Memphis wasn’t keen on committed relationships, but after regularly landing in each other’s beds enough times, they finally decided to give dating a try. It was new, and Memphis needed a lot of coaching and reassurance. He was surprisingly insecure.
Every time a bus or streetcar rumbled by and stopped to let passengers off in front of our perp’s building, I glanced up, anticipating our target’s arrival.
Every time, he didn’t get off.
Diem became fidgety. He unearthed a pack of Starburst from somewhere and absently made his way through the entire pack. Again, he didn’t share, and I liked Starburst.
Then, the knee bouncing started. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. He chewed through three pieces of gum.
By quarter after one, a parking space opened across the street from the brownstone. “D, go. Move. There.” I pointed.
“We’re fine.”
“No, we’re not. We’ll have a better view from there.”
“And two lanes of traffic to dodge if he suddenly appears.”
“Diem Krause. I will spend the rest of this stakeout talking about the new dating show I’m watching if you don’t move this vehicle. You promised.” And I needed new scenery, or I would gouge out my eyeballs.
Grumbling something under his breath, Diem started the Jeep and pulled into traffic, swinging around in a driveway a few car lengths down the block before returning and taking the available spot.
“Happy?”
“Yes. Can I still tell you about the show? It’s awesome.”
“No.”
“Please.”
“No.”
I sighed dramatically. “Fine, but there’s a guy named Francois, and he’s totally hot. He has a sexy accent, too.”
