The man whips around, eyes wide in surprise. He squints at me and then says simply, “Oh. Hi.”
I’m at the passenger side, looking at him over the roof of the car. He’s wearing a baseball cap pulled low, his face in shadow, but I can make out dark hair and a collared shirt under some kind of monogrammed zip-up vest.
“Nice night, isn’t it?” I ask.
He doesn’t take his eyes off me. “Sure is.”
“Were you looking for an address or…?” I trail off, rounding the front of the car and walking a few paces from him.
“Oh, yeah, I, uh…” He swallows, squinting to the side. He’s wiry but has a weak jaw, his chin smoothly transitioning to neck. “I’m looking at buying in the area.”
Strange time to come visit the neighborhood, I think.
“Is that your dog?” he asks, lifting his chin.
I reach down, ruffling the fur behind her ears. “Yeah, this is Honey.”
“Honey,” he repeats, eyes locked on her. “I’m Frank.” He looks up at me expectantly.
Relieved that we don’t know each other, I hold out my hand, “I’m Luca.”
He shakes it, but his spine is rigid, shoulders tense. The intensity of his gaze puts me on edge, the way it moves over my face like he’s cataloging every detail. Honey watches the entire interaction. Her ears are back, and I swear she doesn’t blink.
“You said you’re in the market?” I ask him.
“Yeah, I am.” His eyes slide to Honey and back again. “You live in this neighborhood?”
I nod, lifting my chin up the street. “That way.”
“How long have you lived here? If you don’t mind my asking.”
“A few years now.”
“And you like it?”
“Yeah. It’s quiet. Neighbors watch out for each other.”
“Ahh,” he says in understanding. “A blessing and a curse, that one.”
I laugh. “It can be.”
“And your wife? She likes it, too?”
I pause. I didn’t say anything about being married. I suppose he could have seen the ring on my finger and assumed, but I don’t like it. “It’s great being so close to the beach,” I say vaguely.
“That’s always a plus,” Frank says. “I’ve never been much of a beach guy myself, but I get the appeal.” He points to my leg, the bandages visible at the hem of my shorts, my weight on the cane. “Looks like maybe you wiped out a few too many times.”
“Just an accident at work. Nothing too serious.”
“Huh.”
We both glance up at a car turning at the top of the street, the headlights cutting across us in a slash of bright light. The car slowslike the driver is checking for street numbers, but then it turns into my driveway. My heart skips.
It’s a police car. Has something happened to Emery?
I blink back at the sound of Frank tapping his driver’s-side window. “I’d better head home. Nice to meet you, Luca.”
“You, too,” I say distractedly. I should watch which direction Frank goes when he leaves, but my attention is firmly on the two officers that emerge from the car and begin walking toward my front door.
