Page 75 of A Matter of Time

I knew I wasn’t ugly, but luminous was an exaggeration. Still, it was nice to hear.

“Why don’t you change and I’ll take you to Delvecchio’s for some pie?”

I nodded, smiling, and she caught her breath.

“You really are stunning, Mr. Keyes.”

“Rightbackatcha.”

Her laughter was deep and sultry as she told me to hurry up.

When I emerged in my tight jeans and crisp white shirt under my V-neck cashmere pullover, she smiled wide. I was glad Sam had brought everything from my bathroom as well as all my clothes. I smelled like me again, and I would have died without all my hair products.

“People are going to think I’m a cougar with my boy toy.”

I froze where I was, and she burst into laughter.

“What?”

“I just didn’t think you’d know what a cougar was!”

“Because I’ve been, what, living under a rock all these years? Hello, honey, I have daughters.”

I smiled at her, and she took my arm and led me out of the apartment. As the door closed, she passed me her keys for Sam’s apartment.

“You keep this set, doll. I have another at home.”

I pocketed them and followed her down the stairs and out to her car, which was parked in front of the eight-story apartment building. I liked her silver Lexus infinitely more than Sam’s SUV and told her so.

“I know,” she agreed. “It’s a tank, not a car.”

The bakery was small and intimate, warm inside with little red-and-white-checkered curtains and the same type of window valances. There was a bell on the front door when you walked in, and the whole place smelled like freshly baked cookies. I loved it and made a mental note to pick up baklava for Dane the next time I came. It was his favorite.

Regina had a slice of lemon meringue, and I had pumpkin custard. We talked about her family, about her daughters, her other son, Michael, and about how much trouble she was having finding a girl for Sam. Once I recovered from almost choking to death on my milk, I told her not to worry about him. When the right person came along, he’d know. She prayed I was right.

When she dropped me back off at his apartment after two hours of food shopping, she told me to be sure I came for Sunday dinner. She’d expect me at six with Sam. She invited him every week, but he never went—always too busy. She was counting on me to get him there. I promised her I wouldn’t let her down. Her hand stayed on my cheek for several seconds before I got out of the car with all my bags and she drove away. It had been a very nice day.

Every Friday night my boss had dinner out. He always took at least eight people with him, as well as his current date. This week, as he’d told me, it was Adagio’s, a very good Italian restaurant, and the flavor of the week was a cardiologist named Kensie Beckman. When I was shown to his table, she did not seem pleased to see me. At least she was still polite. The others—his friends, the doctors and the lawyers—didn’t seem annoyed at all to find me there among them.

“Hi-hi,” I greeted everyone, letting out a deep sigh as I turned to look at my boss. “Could I talk to you for one minute, please?”

“Did you eat?”

“No, not yet. But, listen, could I please just⁠—”

“Sit down and eat,” he ordered me. “You look pasty.” There was a pause as he looked at me like he had just thought of something. “And you have a black eye, and you’re bruised. Should you even be out of the hospital?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“So Monday morning you’ll be back at work?”

“I said I would.”

He shot me a look.

“Sorry. Yes, I’ll be in.”

“Good. Nothing gets done when you’re not there. That girl… What’s her name?”