Page 12 of The Little Shop of Curiosities Cursed Object 1, The Music Box

My stomach is churning, the whiskey sitting like lead, or maybe it’s just the thought of seeing Danny and rehashing my past. I shift in my seat and as I glance up, I see him approaching. He looks just the same, dressed in a neat two-piece suit that seems to be the staple of any police detective. His blonde hair is short and swept in a side parting, and his blue eyes are filled with warmth.

As he reaches me, I stand slowly. “Danny.”

He sets his own mug down on the table and pulls me into a hug. I’m not expecting it, and for a moment I stiffen, then relax.

“Sam.” He pulls back and studies me, those deep blue eyes of his serious.

I know what he’s seeing. He may not have changed, but I have. I was always well-built, maybe a little soft around the middle, but in the past year between my recovery and moving, weight has just fallen off, leaving me a bit too thin. My past short dark hair and clean-shaven face have been replaced with a perpetual dark stubble and shaggy hair that John Wick would be proud of.

But the thing that makes my stomach tighten is the way Danny’s gaze lingers for a moment on the jagged scar that slightly drags the corner of my eye and runs down my cheek.

“It’s good to see you,” he says, and I relax a little at the obvious sincerity in his voice.

“Yeah.” I nod and lower myself back into my seat. “You too. You look good.”

“Thanks.” He smiles, taking the seat opposite me.

“London agrees with you,” I mutter as I study his face with just as much scrutiny as he gave mine.

“I guess it does.” His mouth quirks as he takes a sip of his coffee.

“Or maybe it’s the cute pathologist you’re practically shacked up with.” I give him a wry smile.

He raises a brow. It might have taken me a while to work up the courage to meet with him, but it’s not like I don’t keep tabs on the people who are important to me.

“And how would you know that?” he asks in amusement.

“Because I’m very good at what I do.” I chuckle. “Did you really think I’d come to London and not look you up?”

“No, but I’d kind of expected a phone call at the very least.”

I nod and sigh. “I had some things to work out first.”

He watches me quietly for a moment. “You look good,” he finally says.

“I look like shit is what I think you meant to say,” I say quietly as I toy with the handle of my cup.

“Nah. Add a fedora to the trench coat and you’re one Maltese falcon away from passing for a hardened film noir PI.”

“Well, I certainly have the name for it,” I snort. “All I need is a twenty-a-day habit and a penchant for whiskey sours.”

“Here’s looking at you, kid.” Danny raises his cup and toasts me playfully before taking a sip of his coffee.

I shake my head. “I’d forgotten about your film obsession.”

“How are you really, Sam?” he asks seriously. “I’m sorry I had to leave before you were fully discharged from the hospital, but my job started pretty much straight away. I sometimes think getting the job was less about my qualifications and more the fact they were desperate for staff.”

“I’m not surprised they offered you the job with an immediate start,” I reply. “You’re a hell of a detective, you know you are.”

“So are you.”

“Once maybe,” I murmur, staring into my cup, “but I’ll never work for a police force again.”

Danny nods. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to say goodbye properly though.”

“I probably wouldn’t have agreed to see you anyway,” I admit. “I wasn’t in a good place at that point. My recovery… ” I pause. “Well, let’s just say it took longer than expected.”

“And are you? Recovered?”