Catch of the Day (Gideon's Cove #1)(51)
Still no reaction from Malone, which I find slightly ominous. But, true to character, I keep going. “Let alone what they say about your wife.”
Oh, shit. Now I’ve gone too far, and even I realize it. My heart starts thumping erratically against my rib cage. Though Malone hasn’t moved or changed expression, I’m suddenly a little afraid.
“And what do they say about my wife?” he asks very, very quietly.
“Oh, well, you know…I don’t know. People talk about all sorts of”
“What, Maggie?”
I swallow. “That you hit her. That she was scared of you and that’s why she moved across country.”
His face looks so hard now it could be carved from granite. “And do you believe that?” he asks in that scraping, quiet voice.
“I wouldn’t be here if I did, Malone.”
He stares at me and I force myself not to look away. Finally, his gaze flicks somewhere past me. “When?” he growls.
“When what?”
“When did you make your little announcement?”
“Oh! Well, that was a while ago. You know, a couple, three weeks ago? A month, maybe. But before you and I…um…hooked up.” Colonel’s tail starts thumping in his sleep. Malone exhibits no such happiness, just continues glaring at me, the creases between his eyebrows unrelenting.
“Okay, well, I wanted you to know that,” I say, peeved at his lack of reaction to both my confession and my trust. “Whatever. I’m sorry I woke you up, if I woke you up. I just thought you shouldI don’t know. I didn’t want you thinking anything”
“Do you still have a thing for him?” Malone interrupts. There’s a note in his voice I haven’t heard before, and it gives me pause.
For once, I don’t immediately answer. Instead, I stare back at Malone a minute, then decide to take a chance. “No,” I say softly. “It seems like I have a thing for you.”
He looks back at me, not smiling, then covers the space between us, takes my hand and leads me to bed.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
AT LEAST I DIDN’T wake up alone, I think the next day as I slice onions for potato soup. Malone was already dressed, granted, and it was still dark out, but he kissed me gently and said the tender words, “Gotta go.” And he did.
But he kissed me, he woke me up…that must be a step forward, I think. Last night marks the third time we’ve spent the night together. This must be a relationship, right? The fact that I still don’t know much about him rankles, though. What we really need to do is go out and not just go to bed. This idea holds a good bit of appeal in theory, until I remember the night we spent staring at each other at the restaurant. Maybe I should go ahead with that list and just hand it to him. Please fill in the answers to the following questions. What is your first name? Do you have any hobbies? Are you going to introduce me to your daughter? Am I your girlfriend?
The sun is shining brightly today, the air cool and clean, and business is slow. A few people come in to pick up an order, but that’s about it for the lunch crowd. It’s Octavio’s day off. Since we’re so slow, and since she’s reading a novel anyway, I send Judy home at noon and handle the few customers who actually come in to eat.
After I close, I take Colonel home and swing by the soup kitchen with the vat of soup and a few dozen biscotti. Then I spend an hour or two writing letters to tourism writers and restaurant critics, hoping to lure someone to Joe’s Diner. But my mother is probably right. Even if Joe’s wins best breakfast in our county, or even in the whole state, it wouldn’t change much. Gideon’s Cove is just too far from anywhere to be popular.
I take a walk to the harbor. My brother’s boat is in, but Malone’s, the Ugly Anne, is not. I wonder how he picked the name, who Anne is. Another question for the list, I suppose. I walk back home, oddly deflated.
Having cooked all day, the last thing I want to do is make myself some dinner. On a whim, I get into my car, which is caked with dried mud, drive twenty minutes to the next town, which has a car wash. I’ve always loved the car wash, that feeling of surrender to the conveyor belt, the ease with which the car is suddenly sparkling clean. As I’m feeding quarters into the vacuum machine, another car pulls up next to me.
“Maggie, how are you?” says Father Tim, getting out. “Great minds think alike, don’t they?”
“Hi, Father Tim! How are you?” I haven’t spoken to him in several days, and that mere fact gives me pause. He hasn’t come into the diner since…heck, a few days. And I haven’t really noticed.
“We missed you at Bible study last night,” he chides gently, fishing around in his pockets for quarters of his own.
“Right. Shoot. I’m sorry. I guess I had some things to take care of,” I say. My face and other parts grow warm at the thought of just what those things were, but I cover by vacuuming the back seat.
When Father Tim is finished, he straightens up and glances down the street. “Would you care to grab a cup of coffee, Maggie?” he asks. “I thought I saw signs of life at Able’s.”
“Sure! That would be nice.”
Able’s Tables is a tiny little café down the street, and they are indeed open, though business is light at this time. A sign promises open mike night beginning at eight, but I don’t expect Father Tim and I will be around for that. We order coffeesand Father Tim gets a brownie the size of Rhode Islandand sit at a table near the window.