Page 63 of Old Flames

Leo met with Daphne at a bar promoting Mojito Mondays, a two-for-one special for locals. “We reclaim the city after the bulk of the tourists clear out, or we try to.”

“Will they kick me out?” he asked, amused.

“Stick with me,” she said. “You’re good.”

They chose a table near an open window. The sinewy trunks of palm trees shot past the window’s frame. Daphne ordered a mojito. He ordered the same, but virgin.

“Did I miss something?” Daphne asked. “Since when are you a virgin?”

“Since I don’t like who I am when I’m drunk.”

She dropped her hands onto her lap. “How did I miss that?”

“It’s in my Substack,” he said coolly. “Sign up for updates on my personal crisis management.”

Daphne didn’t react to the joke. She looked about, no longer content with her choice of venue. “Had I known, I would’ve picked someplace else. We can leave, if you want.”

This was why Leo avoided talking about his sobriety, people wanting to go out of their way to accommodate him. The last thing he wanted was to make his problem everybody else’s problem. He’d made a conscious decision to curb his reliance on tobacco and alcohol and the like, not to opt out of life. “Daphne, that’s the last thing I want.”

“Alright.”

When the drinks arrived, they toasted his newfound virginity.

“I can’t believe you decided to stay,” Daphne said.

“I like the turret,” he said. “It suits me. Also, I got a great rate. They’re running a special.”

“They run specials all the time,” she said. “It’s gloomy, don’t you think?”

“The others are convinced it’s haunted,” he said.

“That’s a whole other story,” Daphne said. “In my culture, we don’t chase after ghosts. The dead better stay dead. But I’ll tell you this, I had trouble sleeping while I was there. I kept dreaming of Felix and then, well, you know, that morning after breakfast . . .”

“What was that about?” Leo asked. “What did you find?”

“This.” She held out her left hand. On her ring finger was a simple gold band. “His ring. I returned to my room and there it was on the floor.”

“You said it might’ve fallen from your suitcase.”

“Forget what I said,” she stammered. “I couldn’t risk panicking Ayesha.”

Leo reached for his notebook and pen. “Tell me more.”

“He had my name engraved on it ahead of the wedding,” she explained. “It was meant to be a surprise. We’d found the receipt on him, but never the ring. I figured it was lost in the debris of the accident. He collided with a truck . . .”

“My God, Daphne . . .”

She brought her hand to her heart. “I’m thrilled to have found it, but if I think about it too much, I might lose my mind.”

“Understood.”

She let out a breath and regained her composure. “I don’t think we’ll use that venue next year. Consider changing hotels if you’re uncomfortable.”

“I’m good,” Leo said. “I plan to lock myself in the tower and get to work. I’ve got an idea for a novel.”

“Would it be a spicy romance between a dark and brooding horror writer and an enigmatic fantasy author?” she asked.

“No.”