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“Not quite,” Scott says, leaving it at that. “Would you be able to hold the place for twenty-four hours while we make a decision?”
“I can do that,” Allison agrees before handing off a pile of papers.
We thank her, the three of us heading out of the building. Allison gets in her car with a wave and drives off.
“You’ll check with Phillip?” I ask.
Scott nods, rubbing his hand over his mouth. “Yeah, as long as you don’t mind. It’s not that I want to steal your thunder, but he knows me. I think he’ll listen if I suggest he get out of his current place.”
“It might not be safe for him there,” I say. The landlord hasn’t threatened Phillip directly, but his words and actions are not congruent with a kindhearted man. There’s no telling what he might do when we serve him papers.
Scott nods quickly. “No, I know. Which is why I’m glad you thought of this. I’ll let you know what Phillip says.”
I nod, checking the time. “Are you heading back to the community center?”
“Nah, no point. I’d just turn around and go home. Want to grab a bite?”
I consider it. “We could do that, so long as you don’t mind me inviting my husband. Or you could come back to my place and I’ll cook us something.”
“Well, shit, let’s do that,” he says, clapping me on the shoulder. “I’m not one to turn down a homemade meal. Lead the way?”
I nod, and after texting Scott my address just in case, we get into our respective vehicles. Kipp isn’t home yet when we arrive, and I show Scott around, giving him a brief tour of the apartment. He walks the living area with an appraising eye.
“This is nice,” he says. “Love the black-and-white artwork.”
“Thanks. Most are pictures from Quebec.”
He hums.
“Want a drink?” I ask.
“Sure,” he says. “Anything’s fine. I’m not fussy.”
I grab a couple beers and hand one over before looking through the pantry. “How do you feel about pork chops and sweet potatoes?”
He doesn’t have a chance to answer before Kipp walks through the door, a wide grin on his face. “Honey, I’m—” He cuts off when he sees Scott. “Oh. I’m not interrupting a sugar exchange, am I? Hi, I’m Kipp.”
I huff a laugh as Scott walks forward, accepting Kipp’s hand with a quizzical expression.
“Kipp, this is Scott from the community center I told you about,” I say, offering introductions. “He’s here for dinner. Not sugar. Scott, my husband, Kipling Lavoie.”
Yeah, I have no clue why I added that last part, and by Kipp’s widening eyes, neither does he. But fuck it. I like the sound of my name attached to his.
“Well, damn,” Scott says, letting go of Kipp’s hand. “Teddy, you didn’t tell me your husband is a damn GQ model.”
Kipp’s grin widens. “Oh, I like him. And just Kipp is fine. Tell me, Scott, have you ever spotted Teddy in a singlet?”
Oh Lord.
Scott’s amused face turns my way. “There’s a story here.”
“There’s really not,” I assure him, grabbing a beer for Kipp. I twist the cap before handing it his way.
“Thanks,” he says, planting a kiss on my cheek before taking a seat at the island with his drink. He pats the chair next to him for Scott, who accepts the invitation. “Here’s the thing. I’m half-convinced my husband is a superhero. But I don’t know where he stores the spandex.”
Scott barks a laugh. I just shake my head, grabbing the pork chops from the fridge.
“I’ve never seen him in spandex,” Scott says. “But there was Halloween a few years back.”
