Hide (Detective Harriet Foster #1)(34)

Looking around at all the avant-garde pretentiousness—the exposed brick, the fancy furniture, the arty accent pieces—he was afraid to sit or touch anything for fear of breaking something that cost more than he did. Curtains, of course, would be too pedestrian, too normal. Amelia had dimmable glass, manipulated from light to dark by the touch of a button. He shook his head and smiled.

“Bodie, sit,” Am called from behind him. “Dinner’s ready.”

He joined her at the table she’d set, or at least he thought it was a table. He’d never been able to pin it down. Was it a custom-made slab table or a polished plank from an old pirate ship? Were the chairs meant to be chairs? They looked to him like wine barrels someone had refashioned and plopped cushions on.

He laughed. “I’ve been here loads of times, but I still can’t get over all this weird stuff. How can you kick back in a place like this? It feels like an art museum. There should be velvet ropes along the walls.”

Amelia set the bowl of salad on the table, grinned, then looked around the space to see what he saw. “Color, lines, form . . .” She pointed at him, a playful scolding. “Life is art. Food is art. Art is everywhere. It’s all in the presentation. Now sit down. I’m starving.”

“What kind of art are we eating?” Bodie said, taking a seat on the wine-barrel-chair.

Amelia chuckled. “Lamb chops.” She went back to the kitchen for the bread, veggies, and quinoa. “You know, I could help you spruce up your place, if you want? Take some of the first-apartment decor out of there, make it look nice.”

Bodie reached over and snagged a leaf of lettuce from the bowl. “No thanks. I like being able to identify my furniture.”

“Your loss,” she said, placing everything on the table and sitting across from him. “Dig in.”

They caught up while they ate, Bodie with Westhaven still souring on his tongue and Am with her studio and her ideas for new art pieces. Am lit up and came alive when she talked about her work.

“Late dinner,” Bodie said, spreading his napkin across his lap. “I feel so cosmopolitan. At Westhaven, dinner was served promptly at six. Thought I’d try something new.”

Amelia stopped to stare at him. “Was it really horrible?”

Bodie picked up his fork, eyed the lamb chop. “Horrible’s relative, isn’t it?” He drew his finger to his lips to shush her. “But we’re Morgans, Am, and Morgans don’t talk about . . . you-know-what.”

“Why do you torture yourself?” Amelia asked.

Bodie cut through his meat, took the first bite. “Million-dollar question. How was the shopping?”

Amelia took a sip of wine. “What?”

“Shopping,” he said. “Remember? You called me while you were shopping.”

“I didn’t find anything. I spent the afternoon in the studio instead. So what have you got planned for work?”

Bodie took another bite of lamb chop. “Still considering my options. I could go back to limo driving. The suit still fits.”

“The craft beer thing I thought was interesting. Morgan’s Amber Ale?”

He shrugged. “Good idea. Crowded market. I’ll come up with something else. Don’t worry. You won’t have to spot me forever.”

“I’m not worried, Bodie. I know you will.”

“Meanwhile, I’ve just been walking around, taking everything in,” he said. “I could walk around the grounds at you-know-where, but it’s not the same as being able to go wherever you want.” He saw her face, the concern on it. “Relax.”

“Bod . . .”

He interrupted her, a lightness in his voice he put there to ward off the pity. “I walked all the time before I went in. At night. It’s quiet, not too many people out. I walk to clear my head. For miles without even realizing it. The sky’s so clear then. I’m telling you, night is where it’s at. You’d probably think up a dozen painting ideas if you walked at night.”

Amelia’s silence made him angry. It meant his walking at night worried her, and she was trying to figure out a way to say so. He could see in her eyes that she was thinking about those women and how he’d climbed to the roof of his apartment building and stood with his toes over the edge. And though they’d decided not to talk about past things, he at least couldn’t help but pay heed to the ripples they made in his life, the remnants of shock that reverberated and echoed now, like the rings a skipped rock made on a still lake.

“I’m solid, Am,” he said, his eyes meeting hers. There it was. The doubt. He hated it, didn’t need it. “There’s nothing wrong with walking.”

“Where do you go?”

“Everywhere. Nowhere in particular. I walk. I think. Then I go home. You have your painting, your weird furniture. I have that. All the same, isn’t it?”

Amelia leaned back in her chair and for a moment just stared at him. “Meet anyone along the way?”

His fork and knife clattered to the plate. “I said alone. What would be the point of meeting someone along the way? And who? Anyone in particular you think I’d meet? I don’t need mothering, Am.”

“Just trying to help. Why’re you so defensive?”

He hated how she could stay so calm when he was so upset. Look at her, Bodie thought, staring at him, judging him, her eyes as still as glass. He ran his hands through his hair, then stood. “Yeah, I’m gonna go. Thanks for dinner. I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”