Page 6

6

LENNY

“Who was he?” Mallory demanded later that night after Agent Beck left.

She sipped on the glass of wine I’d poured her as our movie played in the background. Every wine night took place in my apartment. I’d pushed to hold one in Mallory’s, but she was far too embarrassed about what she claimed was a mess.

I doubted it.Mallory was the most particular perfectionist I’d ever known, but it was useless to push.

“No one,” I answered for the thousandth time. She wouldn’t drop it.

I took a sip of my wine, letting the crisp taste wash over my tongue.A car engine revved outside, and I startled before I could set the wine glass down, spilling a drop on the couch.

“Shit,” I muttered.

“That’s why you never should have bought a cream-colored couch,” Mallory said, her eyes never once leaving the rom-com she picked out.

“It’ll come out,” I said, more as a prayer than an answer.

I hurried to the kitchen to dig through my cabinets to find anything I could use to clean it.Random cleaning supplies rattled in my lower cabinets, and I found one that looked similar to fabric cleaner. I grabbed a paper towel from my counter and made my way back to the couch.

Mallory paid me no attention.

The stain was small, barely bigger than a quarter. I sprayed the fabric cleaner on the couch and blotted at it. Never scrub—that was the only trick I’d learned from my father growing up.

Scrubbing will only guarantee you’re stuck with the stain. His voice echoed through my head. I kept blotting until I could barely see the red anymore.

“That stuff smells like chemicals,” Mallory complained.

I couldn’t smell a thing.“It’s odorless,” I countered.

She shrugged and returned to the television.“So who is he?” she pushed again without looking at me.

“I told you, he was here to fix my computer,” I answered.

She scoffed.‘You expect me to believe that?” she asked. “Seriously, Len, give it up.”

Was there harm to telling her? If it was an active FBI case, others in town would find out too. I didn’t see the use in hiding it from Mallory.

“He’s an FBI agent,” I admitted, sitting back down on the couch.

Mallory spit out her wine, choking on the liquid.

“Mal, I just cleaned up,” I groaned.

“Back up,” she demanded. “An FBI agent!”

“He just needed some records from the museum,” I quick defended, like a suspect put on the stand.

“About what?” Mallory pushed, her full focus on me for the first time.

“The Coastal Killer,” I admitted.

“You mean the case you’re obsessed with,” she said.

“I’m not obsessed,” I defended.She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes on me.“Not obsessed,” I repeated. “It’s a case I’m working on for the museum to build an exhibit. It’s for work, Mal.”

It wasn’t lie; it was just a stretch of the truth. More than a fraction of the things out of Mallory’s mouth were an exaggeration, but I loved her for it. The world seemed brighter, livelier, the way she saw it. Her stories gave me hope that one day, I’d see the world a bit brighter, forget the past and move on.

“Your work seems to always follow you home,” she scolded. “You need a break.”

“Have you been seeing Calvin?” I prodded.

“Your brother hates me. But if he’s saying the same, then you know I’m right.”

“He does not hate you,” I countered.

“The beach mistake,” she reminded me.

It was a hot summer day, and Calvin had invited me to join him for a midday swim in the ocean.

“That wasn’t your fault,” I shrugged.

Mallory had joined at my invite, which Calvin didn’t mind at all. It wasn’t until Calvin invited Mallory to hit the volleyball he brought back and forth that the day took a turn.

“I broke his nose,” she said.

“It wasn’t broken, just slightly bruised and bloody,” I laughed.His nose bruised with a lump for days following. His fiancée? She had thought he’d been in a fight.

“He’s been weird to me ever since,” she pouted.

“He’s not weird to you,” I sighed. “I’m sure he’s forgotten all about it.”

He hadn’t, but I wouldn’t admit that. Although, the beach incident wasn’t the reason he avoided Mallory. Their personalities just weren’t meant to mesh.

“So, this FBI agent,” she pushed. “How long is he here?”

“I don’t know,” I answered as I realized the credits were rolling on the television. I’d missed a third of the movie entirely.

“You didn’t ask?” She raised a brow. “I saw you looking at him like you were ready to take him to bed, and you didn’t bother asking when he was going back?”

“I was not-“

“He’ll just break your heart. It’s for the best,” she added.

“What?”I pulled my legs in close, knowing what Mallory meant. She had her quirks, but I owed everything to her.

Without her, I’d still be living in my brother’s home or possibly without a home, and I’d never have thought life was worth pulling myself out of the depression I’d fallen into.

My life had taken a turn three years ago, and soon after, I’d met Mallory.

“You don’t remember what you were like right after him ,” she hissed the last word. Mallory refused to say his name, like it was a poison.Honestly, it was. The toxicity I had to purge from my life, my mentality, was pure poison fed to me by the person who destroyed my life.

I didn’t want to think about him.

“I’m not in that place anymore,” I promised.

“And I never want you to be again,” she said with a sympathetic smile.

Mallory may have been a pain at times, but I knew she was always looking after me.I didn’t care how much she bothered others with her confident attitude and never ending sass.She’d been there for me when I most needed a friend.That was what counted.

“Mal, I promise. Never again.”

She stood from the chair and walked over to the couch, sitting down next to me. Her arms wrapped around me, and I could smell her vanilla chai perfume.She pulled me close and squeezed me tightly.

“You’re going to suffocate me,” I giggled.

“I just needed to remind you how much I love you,” she teased.

“I love you too, Mal,” I answered as she let me go from the hug.

I leaned my head onto her shoulder and pulled the remote out of the crack of the couch cushions. A list of movies popped up on the streaming service as I clicked through and found one that looked interesting. I turned it on and let myself become completely lost to it.

At some point, I started to doze off from the combination of wine and the time growing late. Mal carefully slid out from under me and lowered me onto the couch. I could barely keep my eyes open as I let her tuck me in. A blanket was tossed over me and a pillow slid under my head. I pulled my legs in and cuddled up with the warm blanket.

The television still played, and I heard Mal tiptoeing her way out of the apartment.

“Goodnight,” she whispered before opening the door and slipping out.

* * *

My hand hung off the couch, and I’d completely lost the blanket at some point in the night. I almost rolled off before catching myself and realizing where I was. I’d crashed hard after Mallory left.

I stood and made my way to the kitchen to get the coffee brewing and breakfast started. My fridge was bordering on empty for groceries, but I managed to find some strawberries and yogurt. The smell of brewing coffee filled my apartment, and I inhaled deeply.

The second best scent next to the salty air by the ocean.

My hand held a mug steady as I poured the coffee into it. I found oat milk in my fridge and added a splash to the cup. Steam rose from it, and I placed it aside on the small island that made up the center of my kitchen while I ate most of my breakfast.

A meow from beneath me pulled my attention away before I could take that first blissful sip of caffeine.

Alonzo sat at my feet, his green eyes bearing into me.

“What?” I asked, and he meowed again.“You have food,” I assured him, pointing to the full bowl only feet away from him.

Birdie came trotting out of my bedroom.

“You slept on my bed, didn’t you?”

She plopped down next to Alonzo and stared up at me. I picked up my coffee and finally took a sip. The warmth brushed against my throat as I swallowed.

“Not you too,” I groaned. “I have work. I don’t have time for this.”

I probably should never have the time for full conversations with my two cats.

Maybe I was losing my mind. I was talking to my cats and about to meet an FBI agent, one who drove me crazy in the single hour I spent with him, who made me feel like my senses were all jumbled.

No, I promised to never do this to myself again.

I’d had enough of men for a single lifetime. My last relationship had been three years ago, and the years following, I spent every second working on myself and rebuilding the shattered pieces. I couldn’t do that again.

Mallory was right. I was a mess the last time, and I would be damned if I allowed that to happen again. My heart was off limits. The only thing I was committing to was finishing the now-lukewarm cup of coffee and spending every hour of the day working harder to become museum director.

I hurried to my room and threw on a maroon sun dress. My work flats sat next to my bedroom door, and I slipped them on.Within five minutes, I was clothed and completed my speed morning routine I reserved for days I was late.

And checking the stove clock as I walked out, I was most definitely late.

I was ten minutes behind schedule.Thankfully, I was always the first to work and likely still would be.

“I will see you both later,” I said to the two felines still watching me with their judging, knowing stares.

* * *

My phone vibrated in my purse on my walk to work. I hesitated to pull it out, afraid I would see Francis’ name flash across the screen to yell at me for being late. Guilt got the better of me, and I fished through my bag for it.

My mom’s contact popped up on the screen.

“Hey, Mom,” I said, answering the call.

“Oh, Lenore! Wonderful,” she cooed into the phone.

I was in for it.

“I was so delighted when Calvin told us you would be joining us for dinner next week,” she went on.

Shit.

He’d failed to mention the part where my parents were also coming. Did I forget a holiday or birthday? I racked my brain for anything significant this month, but nothing came to mind.

“What’s the occasion?” I asked, trying to keep the surprise from my voice.

“Does there always have to be an occasion for us to visit our children?” she answered, and I could hear the scolding in her tone.

“No,” I answered quickly.

I paused outside the museum as I arrived at work, hoping to hurry and wrap up the call before going inside.

“If you must know, Calvin invited us for the weekend,” she replied.

So, he knew.

I was going to murder him the next time I saw him. Not really, but he was definitely high on my list of frustrations. He knew exactly what type of conundrum he walked me straight into, the probing questions and the backhanded compliments.

I loved my parents, but they weren’t the most sensitive of people.

“Will we be seeing you before Friday?” my mother added.

“When do you arrive?” I asked.

“Late next Wednesday.”

At least I had plenty of time to prepare for their arrival. I let out a breath of relief. I just needed to avoid them for a little over a day to make it to dinner.

“Eloise and I will be doing brunch on Thursday. You should join us,” she added.

“I work on Thursdays,” I noted.

“Perfect. Then we will just drop by the museum after.”

“That’s not-” I started.

“I will see you then,” she said cheerily before hanging up.

“See you then,” I muttered.

What did I do to piss of the universe so badly?

I had my quiet little life and routine, and I’d managed to keep that intact until now. My parents never pushed over the past three years, but I couldn’t hold them off any longer. I was running out of time to keep asking for space or making excuses for distancing myself.

The door to the museum shut behind me, the cold air inside slamming into me and pulling me from my thoughts.

“Late,” Barren teased, spotting me.

I scoffed under my breath. It was the first time in my life I was even being close to late, and I still had fifteen minutes before I technically clocked in for the day.

“You’re just unprecedentedly early,” I countered.

“Someday, you will be just like the rest of us,” Barren teased.

Never willing to put in the work needed to get ahead.

“How so?” I entertained.

“Normal,” he laughed. “Not hours early every day and not here after hours. Don’t you have other things to do, hobbies or friends?”

The question stung, and I tried to hide the hurt from my face. Mallory was my friend, and I tried plenty of hobbies. My most recent fixation, crocheting, had ended in lots of spare supplies and at least three half started and abandoned blankets.

“This job is my passion. I don’t need more than that,” I settled on.

He shrugged.“What was that guy yesterday looking for?” Barren asked, changing the subject.

“Who?” I asked, hoping I could avoid sharing more than necessary.

“The one asking Francis about you? Is he your boyfriend?” the old man asked, tilting his head.

“No,” I quickly answered.

“I heard he’s staying at Nelson’s place.”

How did information already make its way around Briarport on Agent Beck? He’d been here barely a day, and it was peak tourist season, yet somehow, the locals still managed to flag the newest stranger in town.

“Interesting,” I said, pretending to care.

I didn’t care.

I repeated that over and over in my head, yet somehow, a lump formed in my throat every time I thought about seeing him again the following day. I could’ve just emailed him the files, but he’d insisted I come to his place.

A door slammed out back, and Barren hurried off, terrified into starting work by our director’s arrival.

I swallowed hard to clear the feeling in my throat. One more day, and I’d see him again.