“Thanks for throwing me under the bus like that,” Dante muttered on their way home.
“Hey, one good dick move deserves another.” After a few uncomfortable silent minutes, Noah asked, “Was any harm done?”
Dante remained quiet, then sighed. “No. I had to reveal basic stuff before they’d leave it alone, like Mallory’s name and how we knew each other, but not the weird parts, thank the gods.” Dante didn’t have the energy to elaborate. Instead, he turned the tables. “What did Misty say?”
“Exactly what I thought she’d say. All the stuff about how men and women make assumptions about each other and how so many misunderstandings could be avoided if they’d only communicate openly and honestly.”
Dante snorted. “Yeah, because Gabe is so good at that.”
“That was her point. Gabeisn’tgood at that, and apparently, it caused problems. She and Mom call him the ‘strong, silent type.’ Not a good trait, according to modern women.”
Dante laughed. “More like stubborn, silent type. It seems like he’s getting over it though. I’ve never seen him so happy.”
“Yeah. He actually smiles now. Misty says he’s planning to take the lieutenant’s exam soon.”
“Really? Why didn’t we know that?”
“Because he’s Gabe, remember?”
He chuckled. “Oh yeah. Well, he’ll have to communicate if he’s in a leadership position.”
“No shit. It’ll probably be good for him.”
Dante waited a few more minutes, but then curiosity won out. “So what did she tell you to do about Kizzy?”
“She said not to give up. To ask her to the basketball game, and if she says no, ask her if there’s something else she’d rather do. She said persistence in itself can be sexy—just don’t make it stalker-ish and creepy.”
“Ha! And what if she says she’d rather cut her toenails alone on a Saturday night?”
“Then at least I’ll know the truth.”
“So, when are you going to call her? The game is next weekend. She might have to make arrangements for time off if she wants to go.”
“You want me to call her right now, don’t you?”
Dante grinned. “Why not? If she shoots you down again, my being here to pick up the pieces of your shattered heart might help.”
“Forget it. I’ll call her when I get home—and from my own room with the door closed.”
“You can have the whole apartment. I have to go shopping. I think we have only beer and Pringles left.”
* * *
When Mallory answered the phone, a female voice asked, “Ms. Summers?”
“Yes…”Oh no. It’s probably some charity, asking for money when I’m practically a charity case myself.
“Are you the Mallory Summers who worked at the mall taking portrait photos?”
Uh-oh.Now she recognized the voice. It was the mom who had freaked out when Mallory saw her dead husband. What could she want? It was bad enough Mallory had lost her job. Did the woman want to sue her for mental distress or something? “Uh. Yeah, that was me.”
“I’m glad I found you. I want to apologize. I feel so bad that you lost your job.”
“Oh. Well, apology accepted.”I guess…
“Please let me make it up to you. I spoke to your boss, and even though he wasn’t prepared to rehire you, he mentioned you’re an artist. My friend owns a gallery and has agreed to take a look at your artwork and possibly arrange a show—provided she thinks your work will resonate with her patrons.”
“Really?” Was this a sick joke? A gallery show would be her dream come true. Could the woman be messing with her head, or might karma be through fucking with her at last?
