“Probably. Most of the guys have known me since I was in diapers. To some of them I still am.”

“And how old are you?”

A pause.

“Ah, so you aren’t telling?”

“No, just … I’m probably not as old as you think I am.” When I didn’t reply right away, he said, “Uh-huh. That’s what I thought.”

“Sorry, I’m … just surprised. It doesn’t matter, of course.”

“Because you aren’t planning to go out with me. But if you were considering it, that would be fine, because two years is not a big age gap. And yes, I know how old you are.”

“So you just turned twenty-three?”

“That’s not two years.”

“Well, I’ll be twenty-five this fall, so if you’re twenty-two today, that means you’re actually two and a half years younger—”

“You stop counting half years at three. That’s the rule.”

“Is it?”

“It is. It’d be fine if I was two years older than you, right?” He knew the answer to that, considering I’d been engaged to a thirty-year-old. “In fact, one could argue that this would be all the more reason to go out with me, while you decide whether you want to recommit to James. What better way to explore your options than to date a guy who has nothing in common with your former fiancé.”

“James has an MBA.”

“And I don’t yet. See? Totally different. So I would suggest we go out if I hadn’t already promised not to bring it up. Now I’ll drop the subject by asking you the topic of your master’s thesis. Also? It’s one.”

“I wasn’t checking—”

“Yes, you were. Subtly. I promised not to push for a date, and when I veered off track, you checked your watch, seeing if it was late enough to bolt, should I continue. I promise no more pushing, prodding, or even hinting. We have thirty minutes. I’ve already set the alarm on my phone.”

At 1:30, Ricky and I were walking into the parking lot behind the coffee shop. His motorcycle was right up front, squeezed into a spot too small for a car. I was parked at the far side.

Beside the lot was a playground. Empty swings twisted forlornly in the brisk wind. Brightly colored ride-on animals rocked, riderless. There was an air of desolation here, of abandonment. Kids in this neighborhood had better things to do than ride smiling purple hippos. I thought of the park in Cainsville, clearly beloved for generations, and I felt a pang of sympathy for this one, and for the kids here. Silly, I know, but I thought, I’m glad I live in a place where kids still want to ride purple hippos.

We were saying our goodbyes when Ricky trailed off mid-sentence, staring at something over my shoulder. I turned and saw …

The hound stood in the park, watching us. Ricky was staring, but not in the way one might look at a big dog on the loose, with concern or trepidation. He looked as I imagine I must have when I saw it the second time—in confusion and disbelief, certain my eyes were playing tricks on me.

“Wow, that’s a big dog,” I managed finally.

“Dog…” His voice was oddly hollow, distant and uncertain. “Yeah. That’s … a dog?” His voice rose as if in question. A hard blink, followed by a short laugh. “Obviously.” He rubbed his thumbs over his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Clearly I’ve had too much caffeine.”

“It is a very big dog.” Standing there. Staring. At Ricky.

“An unaccompanied and unrestrained big dog. I should walk you to your car.”

“It’s right over there. I’ll be—”

“No. I’ll walk you to your car.”

His voice had taken on a tone I’d heard in the clubhouse with one of the girls and, later, with Gabriel. A reminder that while he was charming and easygoing, he was still a gang leader’s son. He followed it with a softer “This way?” and I nodded.

As we crossed the lot, he kept his gaze on the beast, and I could say that was just common sense—don’t turn your back on a threat—but Ricky still looked confused, as if trying to figure out what the hell he was seeing. I wanted to ask: Exactly how big is it? Does it have reddish-brown eyes? What really made my stomach twist, though, was the way the beast stared at him.

“So, Wednesday?”

Ricky’s voice startled me, and I looked around to realize we were at my car already. I glanced back over my shoulder.

“It’s gone.” His tone was light, jaunty even. “So, Wednesday, do you want to come here again or someplace else?”

“Wednesday? I—”

“Or Thursday. Maybe a walk this time. It’s supposed to be perfect weather.”

“You really are persistent.”

“Damned straight. But I haven’t heard a no. Wednesday, then? Same time? Coffee or a walk?”

I paused beside the Jetta. “I can’t. I’m sending the wrong message—”

“The message that you enjoy my company? That you had a hurricane blast through your life a month ago and you’re still sorting through the pieces and you could use the occasional coffee break with a normal—well, relatively normal—guy? The rules don’t change unless you change them, Olivia. The only message you’re sending says I don’t bore you to tears.”

“Okay. Wednesday. I’ll figure out where and text you. Is that okay?”

“Texting me anytime, for any reason, is absolutely okay.” He opened my car door and I climbed in.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Ten minutes into my shift, I got a call from Rose. She left a message asking me to phone back, which I would have, on my break, if her damned nephew hadn’t called three times after that.

After the first time, I’d left my phone in the back—and on vibrate—but it didn’t help.

“Liv…” Larry said, bringing my phone out.

“I know. I’m sorry. It’s just—”

“Gabriel. I saw. Don’t apologize. He’s your lawyer. Take the call in back, and I’ll cover for you.”

When Gabriel answered, I said, “Have I ever told you about Margie? The server I replaced, in part because she kept getting calls during her shift?”

“I didn’t realize you were at work, as I’m no longer in possession of your schedule.”

“And my voice mail wasn’t working?”

“I wasn’t about to trust that you wouldn’t simply delete the message unheard.”

“Texting?”

“The buttons do not accommodate larger-than-average fingers.” Which meant, apparently, that I’d hallucinated all the times we’d communicated by text message. He continued, “I was unable to arrange for a security system installation today. It will be done tomorrow. In the meantime, you will stay with Rose.”

“I will?”

“I’ll tell her you’ll be by after your shift. As will I. We need to discuss a matter relating to both your mother and Ciara Conway. Nothing urgent, but I have a busy week.”

“I don’t get off until eleven.”

“I realize that. I’ll meet you at Rose’s. I presume you’ll want to gather an overnight bag from your apartment, and I’ll ask you to wait until I arrive to do so.”

“Okay.”

Silence. Then, “I’m serious about this, Olivia. I don’t want you going to your apartment alone at night—”

“Didn’t I say okay?”

“Too quickly, suggesting you’re humoring me and have no intention of actually doing as I asked.”

“Mmm, if that was your idea of asking, I’d hate to see how you give orders. I inconvenienced you and Rose last night because I didn’t get that security system. Insisting on staying in my apartment tonight without one would be careless and immature.”

“All right. I’ll see you at eleven.”

“Gabriel’s running late,” Rose said as she let me inside. “He had a call from a client.”

“I’ll phone him,” I said. “We don’t need to do this—”

“He’ll be here in fifteen minutes. It’d be a bigger inconvenience if he has to turn back.”

True. A light was on in Rose’s parlor, so I headed in there.

“What’s wrong?” she said as I took a seat.

“Nothing.”

“Do you remember what I said about the key to being a good psychic?”

“Being willing to make guesses and be proven wrong? Yes, you’re wrong this time. Sorry.”