Neil narrowed his eyes but only said, “All right. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
“Be good.”
I snorted, rolled my eyes, and left.
I’d returned home and gone through the motions of a morning routine—taking Dillon out for his morning constitutional, showering, dressing in work-appropriate clothes—and then we’d set off for the Emporium. Of course, I was sweating by the time I reached the shop, making that shower feel like a waste of time at best, and a waste of resources at worst. And I’d have blown someone for a cool breeze to stir the dead air of the city, but then remembered the Emporium had AC, so I could save that sexual favor for the future. I hastily unlocked the rolling gate, hoisted it over my head, and opened the front door.
I let Dillon go into the shop as I punched in the security code and then wove across the showroom, turning on strategically placed bank lamps. I adjusted the thermostat controls on the wall outside my office, then dropped my bag on the computer chair. I put my glasses on and counted cash at the counter before putting the daily till in the register.
My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I pulled it out to see a warning from the city regarding the day’s forecast:Extreme heat advisory and air quality warning for New York, Bronx, Kings, Queens, and Richmond counties. Limit outdoor activity and stay in an air-conditioned location, if possible. Call 311 for the location of cooling centers nearest you.
Another warning immediately populated underneath that:ConEd requests that all customers limit the use of nonessential appliances through Sunday to avoid brownouts.
Great. Not only was the city baking in its own self-made oven of glass and steel and asphalt, but now nine million people were all making love to their window units at the same time, causing the power grid to max out when we still had four more fucking days of this unrelenting heat wave. I swiped the messages off the locked screen and stared at the phone’s wallpaper. We’d gone to an Irish pub last month for Calvin’s birthday, and Quinn had taken a candid photo of the two of us sitting at the bar, the necks of two beer bottles clinked together, Calvin smiling and looking so damn handsome, and me looking stupid as shit, laughing at something I can’t even remember. But I still liked the picture a lot.
I expelled a breath and looked toward the support beam to the left of the steps of the elevated counter. I’d stood right there when Calvin walked into the Emporium for the very first time, after a call to police about a pig’s heart under my floorboards sent Homicide rapping at my chamber door. In that moment, I was the audience and my memory was being projected to the big screen—Calvin stood over me, all hard lines and jagged edges initially interpreted as homophobia, when in fact, it’d really been the frustration of a closeted cop who’d been immediately attracted to me, secondhand cardigan and all. If only Past Me had a clue where we’d be a year from that moment.
An ampersand on the mailbox.
Joint checking and wedding rings.
He took a bullet for me.
And I nearly burned the city down for him.
Calvin knows all of my insecurities. All of my limitations and workarounds.
I know his night terrors.
I’d told Calvin that morning we were a team, and I hadn’t been joking. We complemented each other, enhanced strengths, reinforced weaknesses. Snow or Winter wasn’t inherently better or lesser without the other—we were simply something unique when together. That was all. And for the first time since our initial conversation—
“Should you conveniently remember something.”
“Like slaughtering some pigs?”
“Have a good day, Mr. Snow.”
—the chaos that seemed to follow me, and befall him by proxy, brought Snow and Winter together as professionals. I wasn’t being a dumbass and my partner wasn’t wading into shit knee-high to pull me back to reality. Lieutenant Ferguson had made a conscious decision to include me in the conversation because he’d felt my voice had value. Yes, I understood why Calvin didn’t like it—I mean, look at my track record—but this was different.
No matter what Calvin thought.
No matter what Neil thought.
Thiswasdifferent. And if I was consulting on a case that had unnerved seasoned detectives, then I wanted to help. I wanted to give the NYPD everything I knew so that we could avoid the death and danger that’d befallen the city in the past. Calvin didn’t have to like me accepting the consultation gig, but he needed to respect it was my choice to make. I sort of felt like our partnership had leveled up since getting married, and now with this Spirits case, we were finally feeling those growing pains.
It happened to every couple.
Granted, not every couple could attest to their foundation being built on murder and mystery….
The front door was unlocked and Max called in a weirdly flirtatious, circus-ringleader voice as he stepped inside, “Bonjour, ladies and gentlemen!”
“It’s just me,” I murmured.
“—And welcome to Snow’s Antique Emporium!” He shut the door and continued while walking toward the counter, “I’ll be your spicy, sensual,salacioushost, Max Bone-Me-For-A-Buck Ridley.” He stopped in front of the register, dropped a folded newspaper down, then said normally, “Hi-de-ho, boss.”
“Bone-Me-For-A-Buck?”
