“I actually have to meet with a new client at nine.”
“Anything interesting?”
“Potential case of fraud. Someone’s been scamming his mother out of her life savings, draining what would otherwise be his inheritance. He wants me to look into it…”
As Graham and Desmond began to chat about his new case, my gaze met Flo’s across the island. Her eyes bugged out at me, flickering from me to Graham and back again in a pointed way that, in best-friend-code, clearly meant:What the fuck is going on between the two of you?
I pinned her with my best stare, the one that said:Nothing is going on, mind your own business!
She volleyed back with a slow, intentional blink.We’re going to talk about this later.
I rolled my eyes back in the sockets.There’s nothing to talk about.
“Right,” she said aloud. “Sure. Whatever you say.”
Both men stopped their chatter to look at her in confusion.
“Talking to yourself again, sweetheart?” Desmond asked lightly, his forehead creased with concern. “Maybe we should reconsider institutionalization after all…”
I smothered my laugh behind my sandwich.
* * *
Nerves flutteredin the pit of my stomach as I shoved my key into the lock and listened to the low thunk of the deadbolt sliding open. I was hyper-aware of Graham standing approximately six inches behind me on the top step of my shallow front stoop, waiting for me to open the door. He was insistent on walking through the whole house, making sure there were no would-be kidnappers lurking in the broom closet or beneath my bed frame.
I could’ve told him the truth — that my kidnappers were far more likely to be in Mrs. Proctor’s stately Victorian next door, playing canasta in the parlor and showing off pictures of their grandbabies — but that was a can of worms I thought it best to leave unopened at the moment.
“You know…” I hesitated with one hand on the shiny gold knob. “You really don’t have to come inside. I’m sure it’s perfectly safe—”
“Open the door, Gwendolyn.”
I sighed and did as he said, trying to remain poised as I led him inside. After seeing his loft, which was more thoughtfully curated than some exhibits at the nearby Peabody Essex Museum, the empty walls and unfinished rooms of my own place seemed even more desolate than usual.
“You need a security system.”
I sighed again. He was so danged bossy. “I’ll think about it.”
“How many other people have copies of that key?”
“Just me.” I narrowed my eyes. “Oh, and I of course mailed one to each member of BTS, just in case they ever need a place to crash if they come to town.”
With a low grunt of what could’ve been amusement or annoyance — it was hard to tell with him — Graham turned on his heel and walked away. He clearly wasn’t holding his breath for me to give him the grand tour. Then again, he didn’t seem to need one. He walked right through the foyer to the double-wide archway that led into my kitchen, as if he already knew his way around. Which was impossible, seeing as he’d never once been here. With the exception of Florence a handful of times over the past few years,no onehad been here.
It was bizarre to have another person in my space. Especially when that person was Graham. His green eyes swept around, taking in the furnishings — or, lack thereof. I trailed in his wake, fighting the urge to wring my hands together as his critical gaze moved over every nook and cranny, catalogued every infinitesimal detail.
“Haven’t you lived here for two years?” he asked, moving beyond the kitchen into the vacant dining room that adjoined it. I’d always thought it would look fantastic with a giant farmhouse table, big enough to serve a basketball team… or a bucketload of kids. A thick, jute rug. Maybe a wrought-iron chandelier, the kind with chunky taper candles and heavy black suspension chain. Unfortunately, right now, like most of the first floor, all it housed were a few cobwebs and dust bunnies.
“Um. Yeah.”
He turned to look at me. “Where’s all your stuff?”
“What stuff?”
“You’re telling me you’ve been living like this? In this giant ass house? For two whole years?”
“For your information, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with the way I live.”
“Didn’t you study interior design?”