Page 46 of Emil

Jakob, there’s no way I’d miss your birthday. Love you guys. TTYL.

“Thank you so much. I’m sure this will look amazing at the house.”

Emil’s instructions this morning had been only somewhat clear: find local art for the house. I wasn’t entirely sure if he meant the cottage, which held nothing but mass-produced prints, or the main house, which had good art but nothing that spoke to the Pacific Northwest. He’d handed me cash and kissed my cheek. It had seemed almost absentminded on his part, but it had been searing from my perspective.

I wandered into the core of downtown, searching for art galleries and independent spaces. The first couple of places I stopped were more kitschy. Their items were cute, but they weren’t originals, and I knew Emil was the kind of man who would appreciate original work, especially if it was going into his house.

The next space I found was an independent gallery, but I didn’t think it was anything he’d be into. I loved the florals, but I’d never seen anything resembling flowers anywhere in his home. Tucked away on a gallery shelf, though, was a brass-plated bouquet. The etched details were incredible, and I used a little of the money he’d given me to buy it for the cottage. With my purchase wrapped up, I headed back down the street to keep exploring.

Something smelled unbelievable, and my nose led me past a park with a giant tree at its center and toward a local café. Whatever they were cooking made my mouth water. Since I didn’t have a timeline or a deadline, I decided to stop for a snack. Shopping was hard work.

I pushed open the wooden door and stepped inside, waiting for a server to seat me.

“Anders! Anders!”

I scanned the room before finally spotting Micah at the front window with another man who was definitely not Cal. He waved me over, and I plastered on a smile as I headed his way.

“I’m so glad to see you,” Micah said. “This is Beckett. The one I told you about from the silent book club.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Beckett.” I held out my hand, and he clasped it in a firm grip.

Beckett was the polar opposite of Micah and Cal. His close-cropped hair and extensive tattoos gave him an imposing air. He was dressed in a ratty T-shirt with the local ferry logo and shorts worn through at the seams.

“Hi.”

I waited, thinking he might add something, but he just returned to his menu.

Micah glanced between us. “He’s not much of a talker.”

“Oh.” I wasn’t sure what else to say.

“We were just going to get breakfast before heading to book club at the library,” Micah said. “Would you like to join us for breakfast, or book club, or both?”

“Oh. I didn’t realize book club was Saturday mornings.”

Micah smiled brightly. “Beckett’s a local police officer, so it changes depending on his schedule.”

“I don’t want to interrupt your plans.”

“You’re not interrupting anything,” Beckett said without looking up from what he was reading.

On paper, his words were polite. My stomach dropped anyway.

Flashbacks of John jumped to the forefront of my mind. Whenever he thought I was changing plans for an unacceptable reason, usually something that didn’t center him, he’d take a tone. The words were polite, but so frostily emotionless that I’d know he was disappointed. That disappointment always set me spiraling. For months, I’d heard that same dismissive tone daily.

My gut said Emil would be okay with a change of plans, but what if he wasn’t? What if he’d had something specific in mind with the art? What if there was a deadline I didn’t know about? The thought of failing a task he’d asked of me clawed at my throat.

“Can you give me just a second?”

Micah nodded, and I stepped back outside, pulling my phone from my pocket.

Hi. I don’t mean to interrupt your meeting.

Emil

You’re not interrupting anything important.

I just wanted to check in.