“Yeah,” Drew says simply. This is what he did after reading my letter. Tore his apartment to bits looking for something of Tori’s.
So he could come for me.
“Oh, Drew,” I whisper, my voice choking off. I lean into him, unable to take my eyes off the disaster in front of us. “I’m so sorry.”
His arm glides around my waist and pulls me close. “Not your fault, babe.”
The dogs, seemingly satisfied with their sniff-fest, gambol over to us, open-mouthed and panting. The little salt-and pepper dog stands on her hindquarters and places her front paws on Drew’s knees, looking up at him with undisguised adoration.
He leans down and scratches her on the head. “Good girl, Quincy,” he murmurs, low and sweet.
My smile is immediate.Quincy.And then it hits me. “D-Drew…?”
He straightens and grins down at me. “Yeah, Guppy?” The grin is knowing and amused, and a rush of chills break out over my whole body.
“I-Is… Is that…”
He nods, his grin on the verge of becoming an all-out beam. “I saw her. Late Monday night. Might have been Tuesday morning,” he says with a shrug. “Right where we spotted her before. Damn near ran her over.”
“Oh my God.” I can barely hear my own voice. “The paper said Mrs. Vivian… passed away on Monday…”
Drew nods again. “I’d just left the hospital. Thought I’d lose my mind without the two of you. And there she was.” His smile goes wistful.
Wistful on Drew Moroux is as beautiful and sublime as the starlit sky.
The playful shriek of a child greets us as we enter the small kitchen.
“Peter. Mary Margaret. Stop running in the house.” The tight space is crammed with people, but I see it’s Drew’s Aunt Josie who has done the scolding. She is leaning against Mrs. Vivian’s counter, holding a cup of coffee and talking to a girl I think is one of Drew’s cousins.
“There you are,” she says in hushed excitement as we come through the kitchen door. She puts down the cup and makes her way through the crowd with a tentative smile, her eyes searching Drew’s face.
Then they flick to mine. “I’m so glad to see you, Evie,” she says, leaning in to hug me, but as she does, she tries to catch Drew’s eye again, and I can tell she’s attempting to figure out where things stand with us.
I don’t let her wonder long. As soon as she releases me, I slide an arm around Drew’s waist and seal myself to his side. She doesn’t miss it, and the polite smile she greeted me with now becomes warm and genuine.
Aunt Josie turns her attention to Drew. “Have y’all had a chance to talk?” She eyes him with meaning enough to make me look up at him.
Old Stone Face is back. “About some things… Not everything,” he says cryptically.
Aunt Josie looks back at me, a benign but absolutely controlled smile on her mouth, and nods quickly. “Plenty of time,” she says, and then touches my elbow. “Evie, honey, can I get you a cup of coffee or some tea? And there’s quite a spread. Drew, why don’t you take Evie to make a plate. You must be starved.”
And with that, we are dismissed to the dining room. The space is empty, but I can hear chatter from the living room and the sound of kids playing. Drew saunters to the dining table. All of its chairs are gone, likely having been dragged into the front room, but the table’s surface is packed with platters and casseroles. Drew hands me a paper plate but says nothing.
“So what was that about?” I ask, gesturing back toward this kitchen. I watch him scoop up a spoonful of potato salad.
His eyes meet mine. “You like potato salad?”
“Yes,” I say flatly. “You going to tell me what’s going on?”
“Yes,” he says, non-smiling. Then he spoons potato salad onto my plate before serving himself. “What about ham?”
I drop my chin and eye him under my brows. “Yes. I like ham. What’s going on?”
He slides a slice of ham onto my plate and then one onto his. “Well, right now, I’m serving you some dinner, and then we’re gonna sit down somewhere out of the way and talk for a minute,” he says, looking almost amused now.
I blink. “Oh… Okay.”
He serves us both a croissant and then eyes a rectangular dish that’s half empty. It’s full of a golden brown crispy topped concoction dotted here and there with bits of red, either peppers or tomatoes. I can’t tell.
