Then Cal releases me from his embrace and pulls his keys from his pocket, thumb finding the unlock button on the Chevy remote. “Two forty-eight-inch rounds?” he asks.
I nod, a smile slowly spreading across my face. “Yes, please.”
“Okay. Call if you need me to grab anything else from the hardware store,” Cal says.
“You’re trusting me alone again?” I ask. “After what happened last time?”
“Of course.” He stops in the entrance to the hallway leading toward the back door and shoots me a small grin that once again brings up some very fun memories from the last two nights. “Besides,” he says, “can’t lose a goose we’ve already lost, can we?”
TWENTY-EIGHT
Callahan
Virtu is closedtoday, and since we still haven’t heard back after texting Roland’s cousin, Beau, Sunday morning about the goose, it’s tempting to spend all day in bed next to—and perhaps occasionally inside—Annie. I’ve managed to convince her to stay over three nights in a row now, but it still isn’t nearly enough to satisfy my hunger for her company; I’m insatiable when it comes to being around her, greedy for more of her softness, more of her warmth. More of those tranquil hours simply holding each other, talking about anything and everything. Adding to my ever-growing, never-complete collection of Things to Adore About Annie O’Neill, and offering her small pieces of myself I forgot I even possessed, much less thought to give over to anyone before.
But a glance at my phone reminds me that it’s the third Tuesday of the month, which is when I have tea with Graham’s partner, Francis. It’s a tradition we started after Graham died,wanting to be in the company of someone else who understood the depth of our grief. Now it’s more of a check-in, a way to stay connected to each other like Graham would have wanted. And we’ve grown closer over the years because of it. Fran can never be what Graham was to me, but, along with Harold and Inés, he’s the closest thing to family I have now.
“I’m supposed to go visit a friend this afternoon,” I tell Annie as I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, uncovering her face. She looks like she’s about to drift off again, and I can’t help but feel some pride in having managed to both exhaust and relax her since closing up the shop yesterday evening and heading upstairs. “But I can cancel if you want.”Or you could come with me, I almost suggest. But it’s too soon for the added pressure of introducing her to the important people in my life. Especially when she still won’t acknowledge that this is anything more than two friendly acquaintances doing each other a solid, by, uh, doing each other.
She sits up and stretches her arms over her head, unconcerned as the duvet falls to her waist. “No, go and have fun,” she says through a yawn. “Besides, I want to clean the screen up a bit before I take it out of its frame. And I should probably go shower and change clothes.” She turns her head and sniffs at her armpit. “Yikes. I shoulddefinitelygo shower.”
“I like the way you smell right now,” I say, taking her wrist to keep it in place and trailing kisses down the underside of her raised arm.
Annie swats at me playfully. “Ew. You’re gross. Go away.”
“Fine,” I say, moving to get out of the bed. Before I have both feet on the ground, Annie wraps her arms around my neck, pressing her naked body against my back. Her fingers findmy jaw and turn my head so she can slip her tongue into my mouth.
“I thought you told me to go away?” I manage when she ends the breath-stealing kiss.
“Did you think I’d let you go without saying goodbye?”
“If that was goodbye, maybe you should remind me how you say hello…”
“Later,” she promises, dodging me as I try to reach for her.
It’s so easy to imagine I can still feel Annie’s wide grin pressed against my shoulder as I make the familiar short drive up I-83 to Francis’s midcentury-built asymmetrical house in Mount Washington. I park on the street and, like always, take a look around for any new hazards or needed repairs as I approach the front door. Because Graham thought of me as a son, Francis always did too. So I feel it’s my duty to look out for him as he ages, at least in the small ways he’ll let me.
When I ring the doorbell, I’m answered with the usual hollered “It’s open!” Which absolutely nettles me, because even though he insists he only does it when he’s expecting a visitor, it isn’t safe for him to keep the door unlocked. But that’s a conversation we’ve had enough times that I know I’m not going to change his mind if I bring it up again today.
“Fran?” I call out as I hang my outerwear on the coat stand—Austrian, late nineteenth century, and one of Graham’s last acquisitions at auction.
“Solarium,” he returns, and I stroll down the hallway to the glass-enclosed room at the back of the house. He’s seated in one of the high-backed wicker chairs, the tea tray set out on the table between it and the matching seat to the other side. Francis beams as I sit down. “Good afternoon, Dodger,” he says, and myheart stutters at the nickname Graham gave me so long ago. It’s short for Artful Dodger—a tongue-in-cheek reference to my failed attempt at stealing from Virtu during our first meeting. Francis is now the only one who uses it. “You’re looking mighty well,” he continues, sounding so pleasantly surprised it’s a bit insulting. “Things are good at the store?”
I mentally add up the massive sale Annie made last week, and the few other relatively small ones we’ve managed in the days since. “Yeah, pretty good. It’s been steady.” I haven’t decided yet whether I should mention the goose situation, so I instead fill him in on Harold and Inés’s elopement—apparently much less of a surprise to him than it was to me—and how they’re out of the country until December.
“You’re alone, then?” Though I know Francis means alone at Virtu, it strikes me that, even if he was asking more generally, for the first time in forever I don’t feel like I am.
“No. Not alone. Harold’s niece is in town to help out.”
“Hm. I don’t believe I’ve met her,” Francis says, handing me the cup of tea.
“She’s proven herself to be…” I trail off, unable to find the right word to describe Annie O’Neill. Nothing quite encompasses the maddening wonder of her. But not finishing my sentence is becoming a bit too conspicuous so I settle on an extremely insufficient “…capable.”
“Oh.I see.” Francis lets out a warm laugh. “Youlikethe young lady, eh? Well, isn’t that a pleasant development! And explains that glow about you a bit better than the store having a good sales month.”
I groan as I feel heat overtake my face. It’s strange to be teased like I’m a gangly teenager with a silly crush on the coolestgirl in school, even though that’s pretty much what I feel like at the moment. I try to hide my blush behind a long swig of tea, which scalds my throat as it goes down.
“Well? Do you know if the feeling is mutual?” he asks.
