“I don’t think you’re allowed to call it that when you’re an adult.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “You know, I can’t believe you still live in Asheville. Shouldn’t you be taking over Silicon Valley with BALL-E?”
A furrow appears in his brow. “I like Asheville. Don’t you?”
“Sure, but I’m not Brain fromPinky and the Brain.”
“You think I’m a mouse with an oversized cranium?”
I nudge his shoulder. “Yes, actually.”
“Kenji has always been on my case to move,” he acknowledges. “I’ve always said no. I like working with him, and we’re collaborating on something big now—I’ll be going out to see him in a few weeks. But I enjoy having the freedom to be myself. This is my home.”
I consider him for a moment. Cormac doesn’t lord his intelligence over other people, but he wears it, always. I used to think that meant he believes he’s better than everyone else, but now I’m not so sure.
He clears his throat and looks away. “Let me give you the rest of the grand tour. If you’ve got time. I warn you now, it’ll take five minutes.”
The tour of my overpriced, one-bedroom dump would take less, but I don’t want to point that out.
Cookie follows us into the house, and Cormac shows me thespare bedroom, where he keeps his guitars, then his office, and his bedroom.
Throughout the tour, his phone keeps buzzing. He checks it once before tucking it away. It continues to buzz, though, and after several rounds of it, he sends off a quick message and then fiddles with the volume control.
“Your other fake girlfriend?” I quip.
“She’s a woman, all right,” he says wearily. “But not one I have any desire to talk to right now.”
“Is this someone you’re dating?” There’s a twinge of unease in my stomach.
“Oh, no. There’s an age gap that would be insurmountable, and I don’t feel that way about her.”
Obviously, I have questions, but there isn’t a chance to ask, because my own phone alarm goes off, alerting me to the need to return to work.
Cormac gives me the key to his front door. “Don’t hesitate to reach out if anything goes wrong. You have my number.”
“Everything’s going to go great,” I say, even though his dog is tucked behind his leg, darting suspicious glances at me. “I’m going to bring Cookie some dog biscuits later, and her whole attitude toward me will turn around. You’ll see.”
“She only eats a certain type.”
My lips turn up. “Why am I not surprised?”
His gray eyes pin me for an extended moment, and then he gives me a big, broad grin. “What can I say? I like difficult women.”
“Are youflirtingwith me?” This time I can’t help myself. I need to know.
He tilts his head, and for a second I see my own reflection in his glasses. “Are you admitting you’re difficult?”
“I admitnothing.”
“Okay.”
“You’re difficult too, you know,” I say accusingly.
He points at himself and raises his eyebrows in a look of outraged innocence, prompting me to laugh again. “Yes, you.”
“Impossible. No one’s ever told me that before.”
“Youdidtry to convince your dad to leave my mom.”
