Rusty Nailed (Cocktail, #2)(28)

“Oh my God, shut up already, will you? It’s a real big hardship, staying here— what a sacrifice.” I laughed, gesturing to the house.

Benjamin said, “All right, let them get outta here. Simon, thanks again for everything. And make sure you check out those bike trails; I left the maps with everything else.” As Jillian went for her notebook once more he told us, “I’d make a run for it if I were you.”

“Oh, let go you big oaf, I need to hug her,” she protested, engulfing me in her arms. “Thank you; you have no idea how much I need this,” she whispered. When she let me go, there were tears in her eyes. “And remember, I’m just a phone call away.”

I hugged them both and let Simon pack me into the Range Rover for our trip back over the bridge. We were both quiet as we entered the city, winding through the streets toward our apartment building.

He parked, then walked around to my side to open my door. Taking my hand, he said, “You know, this might not be so boring after all. It could be fun, having a house.”

? ? ?

Later on that night, Clive and I were playing Kill the Ponytail—a game we’d created a few years ago when I made the mistake of lying down next to where he was sleeping, and swishing my ponytail in front of him. He woke up to a giant piece of dancing hair in his face and went utterly apeshit. The object of the game, as closely as I could understand, was for Clive to chew on, bat about, and all but dangle from my ponytail.

Did I have to wash my hair thoroughly after this game? I did, but to see his eyes light up, and his little sideways crab walk across the floor when he knew it was time to play, was worth it. The game was taking place under the coffee table when Simon came over.

“Kill the Ponytail?” he asked as I poked my head out.

“Yup,” I replied, wincing as Clive took my inattention to grab a mouthful and tug.

“Who’s winning?”

“Who do you think? Ow!”

I turned under the table, intending to give chase, but laughed when Clive curled onto his back, purring loud enough to rattle the windows.

“Truce?” I asked him, rumpling the fur on his belly. The half-lidded eyes and the upside-down kitty grin was answer enough for me. Dusting myself off, I crawled out from under the coffee table to join Simon in the kitchen.

After our trip across the bay, I’d worked for a few hours while he napped, sleeping off his jet lag. I took my Clive break when he ran out to pick up some dinner. Now I got a whiff of Vietnamese, and quickened my steps toward the kitchen. A bowl of pho on a chilly evening was the best thing ever.

I got out bowls while Simon unwrapped containers. I grabbed chopsticks and he poured wine. We settled in at the kitchen table and in between slurps and sips, he went through his mail. It piled up when he was gone, so it was always a chore when he got back. We chatted about the day, different takes on what it would be like living part-time in Sausalito, when I noticed he’d stopped slurping.

“What’s that?” I asked as he stared at an opened letter.

“Huh? Oh, it’s a letter from the alumni association.”

“Stanford?”

“No, my high school, actually. It’s an invitation to my ten-year reunion.”

I stayed quiet, watching his face work through a few things. When he picked up his chopsticks and started on his noodles again, I asked, “So, you think you’ll go?”

“I’m not sure. I didn’t think I’d want to go, but now that it’s here—maybe?”

He changed the subject, but I saw his eyes wander over to the letter more than once. And while I was cleaning up after dinner, I saw him reading it again.

“You should go,” I said, hours later. We were in bed, the news was on, Clive in between us. Simon knew instantly what I was talking about.

“I don’t know if I can. It’s between Thanksgiving and Christmas; I’m sure I’ll be traveling. I must have missed the notice somewhere,” he said, eyes on the screen. He was tense.

“You’d have known about it if you were on Facebook. I bet you anything your classmates have been looking for you on there.”

“I doubt most of them would remember me,” he scoffed.

I bit down a response. Though I didn’t know him back then, every high school had a Simon Parker. Couple that with his parents passing away so unexpectedly, and yeah, they all remembered him.

With a sigh, he turned toward me, hand reaching out across the pillows. I curled on my side as well, my fingers tangling with his. He tucked his other arm under his head. In the light from the television, he looked young. And a little sad.

“I never planned to go back. I mean, I really had no reason to.”

I squeezed his hand.

“I don’t know, maybe I should? Might be kind of fun to see some of those guys again, right?”

I smiled and said nothing.

“I’ll look at my calendar tomorrow. Maybe I can swing it.”

“Want me to check mine?” I asked.

“You think you can? I mean, I know how busy you are.”

“I think I can get away for a weekend. Besides, I’ve never been to Philadelphia. Can we go for cheesesteaks?”

He groaned. “Oh my God, do you have any idea how long it’s been since I had a cheesesteak? That may have just made up my mind.”

I slid across the bed and straddled him, moving his hands to my hips. I leaned down and brushed his hair back from his face and kissed him square on the lips.