I grin at him. “To be fair, most of them were stupid. They were chosen for that very reason. It would have been harder and much less entertaining to make them seem intelligent.”
“And that’s what you like?” he asks, something almost earnest in his tone. “You want to date people who are like that guy from the grape-stomping video? Or the one who keeps women’s underwear?”
It feels like there are snakes under my skin. Because he has a point. Although the dates for the blog weren’t real, there’s no denying I’ve shied away from real relationships. From the kind of connections that come with ties. A therapist would probably have plenty to say about why, but I’m not inclined to dwell on it.
“Well, according to you, I want to date you and your friends, and yet you’re still here. What does that say about you?”
He gives me a half-smile. “I never claimed to be smart. Especially not about stuff like this.”
I’m tempted to ask him what he means, but do I really want to start asking him about his love life?
It’s not what an investigative reporter would do, and yet I do want to ask. I really do. But the timer on his phone is ticking down. We only have eight minutes left.
So of course that’s when Dottie comes rushing out of the back.
“You came,” she says, her eyes bright, her hair a shade of yellow that only appears in nature in rare tropical birds, much like her. I’ve known Dottie since forever, or at least it feels like forever, because her great-nephew is Maisie’s bestie. Which would make coming here a questionable choice if Dottie were anyone else.
I got caught trying to buy alcohol from the ABC my senior year of high school, after my parents’ accident. I was miserable, full of rage and guilt and grief, and Maisie was only hanging in there because she needed to be strong for me. Mary was probably equally miserable, but she was away at law school, and her misery rarely overlapped with ours. So I messed up. More than once, actually, but that time I got caught. My one phone call was to Dottie, my “grandmother.” She picked me up, talked the officers out of pressing charges, and advised one of them on his love life. Best of all, she never told Maisie. To this day. So I’m confident she won’t tattle on me now, even if I’m going to have to face Maisie sooner rather than later, especially given the way I’ve spent my day.
“Oh, I’m so glad,” Dottie says, and she is. She’s beaming with it. I get up, and she immediately wraps me up in her arms. “I hear you’ve made friends with Tina,” she says in my ear. “She’s such a dear girl, and I knew you two would get on. I sensed she was your kindred spirit as soon as I met her. Both of you have lavender in your auras.”
It comes as a massive relief that Dottie is still unflinchingly herself. There are no double meanings with her. You always get what you see.
I want to be like that, when I grow up.
Then she looks at Cal, and her smile stretches even wider. “I recognize you. You’re Blue’s friend.”
I’m not surprised. Dottie makes it her business to know everyone in her orbit. But he clearly wasn’t expecting this.
“You two know each other?” he asks, glancing back and forth between us.
Dottie runs a hand over my hair. “I’ve known this girl since she wore pigtails. Started a newspaper when she was eight and sold it at a little table outside of her house like she was running a lemonade stand. Twenty-five cents. I still remember the headline: ‘Local Man Runs over Foot with Lawn Mower.’ It was about her father. She was always so curious.”
“That part hasn’t changed.” He glances at me, but it’s stripped bare of antagonism. This is similar to the way he looked at me in the dog park, before everything went to hell.
“Your parents would be so proud,” Dottie says, giving my shoulder a squeeze. I feel Cal’s eyes on me, but I don’t look at him this time.
Yeah, Cal, they’re really gone.
Dottie gestures for me to sit back down. “That tea won’t drink itself,” she says.
Which is sort of funny, because I see Cal glancing at the empty spot in front of him. He still doesn’t have his drink.
Dottie’s mouth makes a regretful twist. “Your drinks are on the house, of course. I wanted to bring by some petits fours, but I ran out early today. I’m afraid I can’t keep up with the demand.”
“Probably because you keep giving food away,” I say with a smile. Dottie is notorious for giving away food, everything from a Tupperware full of cookies—I could tell you needed it, dear. Your energy is off—to three-course meals.
She gives a little shrug as if to say she’s not likely to stop. Reaching for my shoulder again, she gives me another fond squeeze. “I know I’ve already thanked you on the phone, but it feels different in person. I’m so grateful for what you did for me, my dear. It’s the best present anyone’s ever given me.”
Her eyes look almost glassy for a moment, and I worry she’ll start crying. She’s talking about her Christmas present last year. I wrote up the story of Dottie’s romance with her long-time partner, Beau Buchanan, as related to me by my sister and Dottie’s great-nephew. I’m sure I got some of the details wrong, since they weren’t given to me firsthand, but they’d wanted it to be a surprise (and was it ever! Dottie cried, but Maisie says they were happy tears, and then promptly sent me a gift box so huge the deliveryman couldn’t fit it through my door). They’d insisted on paying me, but I’d refused. Like I said, I’ve always had a fondness for Dottie. I’m only human.
“It was nothing,” I say. Darting a glance at Cal, who’s searching me with a scrutiny I feel down to my core, I add, “Now, I better get back to drinking this tea so Josie can tell me a piano’s about to fall on my head.”
He laughs, but Dottie shakes her head seriously. “Far more likely bird droppings would fall on you.” She beams at me. “But they say that’s good luck.”
“That’s some good luck I could do without,” I mutter as she walks away to greet another customer.
I feel Cal’s eyes on me before I look up to meet his gaze. “She and my sister are close,” I say.
“So you do have a sister.”
“Two of them, in fact. Both older. And my middle sister is babymooning like a champ. Everything I told you at the dog park was true. I just neglected to tell you that I knew you were going to be there. You know, you really should avoid doing the same things at the same time every day if you’re worried about stalkers.”
His expression is inscrutable, but his jaw is firmly set. “So you lost your job?”
“I did.”
“Why?”
“Sourdough.”
He scoffs and looks at his phone, tipping it to show me the screen. Six minutes.
Hell. I didn’t want to like him this much. I know he has a secret, possibly several, and he’s the last person who should interest me.
“I mean it,” I say. “I wrote about breaking up with my sourdough starter, and my boss told me it was boring.”
“I didn’t see that piece on the blog.” From the way he says it, it’s obvious he didn’t just give the website a passing glance. He read a lot of my articles.