Catch of the Day (Gideon's Cove #1)(30)

“Yup! Just one, actually.”

“Anyone I know?” Skip asks.

“So you have a couple kids?” I ask Annabelle. I can’t think of anything else to say.

“Yes, we do. Three, actually.” She shoots Skip a mysterious little smile.

“And another on the way,” Skip announces. See what a colossal stud I am?

“Oh, that’s nice,” I say. “Wow. Four kids. That’s nice.”

Skip always wanted four children. He said so once, when we were enjoying a post-coital cuddle. “Let’s have four,” he said, and the memory is so vivid I can practically smell his sweat. “Two boys for me, two girls for you.” I thought it sounded wonderful.

“Would you like to see a picture?” Skip doesn’t wait, just fishes out his wallet and shoves it across the table to me. There they are, the Skip Parkinsons and their progeny.

“That’s Henry, Henry the fourth, actually,” Annabelle says, pointing with her lovely fingernail. “Here’s Savannah, and here’s Jocelyn.” The girls’ blond hair is neatly braided, their plaid dresses matching. The little boy is the image of Skip.

No doubt the new baby will be also be a boy. Skip always got what he wanted. I nod and blink, hoping the candlelight will hide the tears in my eyes.

“Hey.”

Someone thumps into the chair across from me. I look up. It’s Malone. Maloner the Loner, surly, scary Malone. My mouth drops open.

“I was at the bar. Didn’t see you,” he says, and his blue eyes stare into mine.

“I—um—”

“Sorry you had to wait,” he says. His voice is like a growl, rough from lack of use, no doubt, and it takes me a minute to realize what he’s doing. My eyes pop open a little, and the lines around his mouth move slightly. It might be a grin.

“Um, well. Hi. Hi, Malone. Uh, this is Skip Parkinson. Do you know each other?” Skip extends his hand, but Malone keeps staring at me. Then, as if reluctant to do so, he slides his gaze from me to Skip and gives a brief nod. He doesn’t shake Skip’s hand.

“And this is Annabelle, Skip’s wife,” I say. Malone takes her hand briefly and nods again. Then he looks back at me. I smile tentatively.

“Well, Skip, why don’t we leave these two to their dinner?” Annabelle suggests. “It was wonderful meeting you, Maggie. Hope to see you all again.”

“Good luck,” I tell her, then look at Skip. “Bye.”

“See you, Maggie,” he says. As they walk away, Skip glances at Malone, then leans down to whisper loudly into Annabelle’s ear. I catch the words “poor white trash.” The shithead.

I look back at Malone. “I can’t say I’ve ever been so glad to see someone in my life,” I tell him honestly.

He raises an eyebrow.

“That’s my old boyfriend,” I confide. “He dumped me for her. I’m supposed to be on a blind date, but apparently, I’m being stood up, and they came in and whipped out pictures of their perfect kids and I was just about to lose it.”

Malone keeps looking at me, and I realize he knows all this. He came to my rescue.

“Thanks for pretending to be my date,” I say.

“Want some more wine?” he asks after a minute.

“God, yes,” I answer.

From over at their table, I hear Mr. and Mrs. Parkinson laughing merrily. I try not to look.

“Malone, how did you know I was…you know…being stood up, trapped, whatever? And what are you doing here?”

The waitress comes over. “Here you are!” she cries merrily to Malone. “What can I get you?” Malone orders a beer and another wine for me, and the waitress bustles off.

Malone looks at me for another minute before answering my question. “You’re pretty obvious,” he says.

“I am? How? I mean—”

“You kept looking at the door, then your watch. Then that arrogant ass**le came in and you looked like you wanted to crawl under the table. Good enough?”

Jeez. Surly guy. “So you just dropped by for a beer?” I ask.

He doesn’t bother to answer, just looks over at Skip. Over in the bar, there’s a cheer as the Red Sox do something great. Skip doesn’t look. Too many painful memories, no doubt.

The waitress brings our drinks, and I clink my glass against Malone’s. “To you, Malone. Thanks. Another piece of pie awaits you, courtesy of Joe’s Diner.”

He rolls his eyes. I gather we won’t be talking much. “So you don’t have to stay or anything, Malone. Maybe I’ll just head out.”

“You hungry?” he asks. It’s like talking to a bear, just a series of low growls and grunts that I must translate into words.

“I’m starving, actually.”

“Let’s eat, then.”

And so begins one of the strangest dinners I’ve ever had. My emotions roll and collide…distress at seeing Skip, gratitude toward Malone—who knew he’d do something so nice?—irritation with Malone, because he’s about as friendly as a hungover troll. Still, I try to make conversation.

“So, Malone, you have a kid, don’t you?” Attempt number one.

He nods once in response.

“Boy or girl?”

His blue eyes, which would be beautiful on someone else—someone who smiled, say—just stare back at me. “Girl,” he says after a minute.