Page 172 of A Matter of Time

I was silent.

“So, for the record, why did you turn him down?”

“’Cause the guy’s a dick, Nicky,” I told him. “Why would you, with all you’ve got going for you, even let a guy like that close to you? He’s a conceited asshole.”

“I know.”

“So? Why?”

“He comes on really strong, J. He acted like he was really into me, and I⁠—”

I made a noise. “He’s a total tool. I’d have to be lobotomized before I’d let him close to me.”

He chuckled. “You know, I like you, I really do. You wanna come and have pie with me?”

“Pie?” I smiled into the phone. “I haven’t decided if I even like you anymore.”

“You like me. I’m likable. I’m an idiot, but I’m likable.”

“And so, what? We’re gonna be friends now?”

“Could we, please?”

He’d screwed up, I’d screwed up—we really were very compatible. “Fine. Should I come now?”

“That’d be good.”

So at ten at night, I went to the county hospital, picked up my friend, and went and had peach pie, milk, and coffee. He told me all about Ray Alvarez, and we laughed like idiots. He ended up snorting milk out of his nose. You could never have too many friends.

TWENTY

Sometimes there’s nothing better than zoning out over a task. Just doing something mindless can be more relaxing than almost anything else. So I didn’t mind that I had been nominated to do the dishes after dinner while everyone else sat around and vegged. Besides, my friend Paul told me that his kitchen never looked better than after I cleaned it up. He had just left me, telling me to hurry up because they were about to start playing board games. I wasn’t surprised when my phone beeped and I saw Dane’s number on the display. This was inevitable.

“Remind me to kill you,” he said instead of hello.

“Hi.” I tried not to even smile because he’d hear my face move over the phone. “How are you? Having fun?”

“You did this on purpose.”

“Whatever do you mean?” I cackled.

“Payback is hell.”

“Again I ask, are we having fun? How’s the date?”

“You’re such an ass,” Dane assured me.

“What? Art walk no good?”

Long silence. “You knew it was this big romantic deal.”

I was so glad he couldn’t see me. “Did I? Are you certain?”

He was on the date I’d set him up on with one of my coworkers, and I’d assured him that I would take care of everything. All he had to do was show up. True to my word, I had set up the date from heaven. I’d wanted to show him something off the beaten track since he was getting a little jaded doing the same old thing, and had ended up really outdoing myself.

They were on an art walk in Oak Park through some Frank Lloyd Wright homes but also other private residences, where they were looking at personal collections. There were strolling musicians, a silent estate sale where trunks could be purchased that were possibly filled with treasures, or at least really old books that would look cool in a bookcase. There were different courses of meals in each home, starting with wine and cheese and ending with champagne or spiced cider. It had sounded wonderful, and I had guessed at, but not asked about, the romantic component.

“I can hear you smiling,” he accused me, his voice flat.