Laney pulled out her keys and went to unlock the front door of the shop.
I turned to Mac. “You’re off for the rest of the night. I’ll find my way back to the hotel.”
He darted a suspicious glance at the shop, Laney, and then back to me.
“It’s fine,” I said. “Do you really see much of a security risk here?”
There, apparently, I had him.
He grunted and got back into the car. “I’ll be here at seven.”
“And I’ll probably be waking up at noon, so you have a nice morning.”
I turned to where Laney was waiting by the entrance to the store, but Mac called me back.
“Ronan.”
I turned. “What? I promise, my pockets are loaded with condoms, and I’m done drinking for the night. Whatever happens, it will all be above board.”
“I’m not worried about you. I’m worried about her.” He nodded over my shoulder. “She’s not like the others. She doesn’t deserve…”
I didn’t have to ask what he meant. Mac had accompanied me through plenty of dangerous situations, dragged me out of countless benders, and had escorted home too many nameless conquests to count.
I’d never been ashamed of that record before now. And maybe I still wasn’t.
Or maybe I was.
“I know,” I said. “That’s why I’m here.”
Our eyes met, and I somehow managed to maintain that eye contact while he silently searched me for something. The truth, maybe. Or worse, a lie.
Whatever he found there seemed to be enough.
“Tomorrow,” he repeated. “You’ll call when you need me.”
He left, and I followed Laney to where she had finished opening up the shop. She let us in, then locked the door behind us.
I looked curiously around the darkened space. There were a few tables of folded scarfs, gloves, and other knit accessories, another with items made of leather. The walls were lined with sparse racks of clothes made of similar natural materials. I understood the goal of the place, even if it was a bit bare.
“It’s nice,” I said.
Laney looked around like she was seeing it for the first time. “It was my mom’s.”
She led me to the back and up a set of stairs to another door that she unlocked.
If the shop was all knitwear and whitewashed minimalism, Laney’s apartment read pure absentminded academic. It was small, consisting of a living room, a dining area, and a kitchenette in one corner, plus a hallway that probably led to her bathroom and bedroom. Every inch of wall space that didn’t have a window was occupied by bookshelves and eclectic art, with furniture that was obviously secondhand scattered around the space.
Laney slipped off her shoes and remained by the entrance while she watched me wander the apartment, pursuing her bookshelves, photographs of friends and family, and all the other little things that mark a person’s life.
“I didn’t see you downstairs,” I said as I fingered a small shrine that was set up in a corner next to rolled-up yoga mat and a sound bowl. “But I see you here.”
“Do you?” She edged closer, then picked up the sound bowl. “I got this on a retreat I did in Belize after I first got certified to teach.”
“Have you done a lot of retreats?”
She looked up, those sea-glass eyes full of light. And maybe a bit of sorrow. “A few, yeah. Before…”
She didn’t need to finish the sentence. Before her mother got sick. Before everything changed.
