Page 188 of Lorenzo

I just never really thought about why there is a dog bed in Lorenzo Conti’s house when Lorenzo does not own a dog.

Mocha lets out a sigh and closes his eyes, apparently not the least bit concerned.

He does not sniff around first.

He does not check the room.

He does not look back to make sure I am staying.

He walks in here and goes to bed.

Like he lives here.

That bothers me.

I am not sure why.

Lorenzo keeps walking toward the dining room.

I follow.

The table is set for two.

There is a bottle of sparkling water sitting on the table.

My brand of sparkling water.

I sit and look at it for a second.

Lorenzo takes the chair across from me and sets my folder beside him.

“I need that,” I say.

“You can have it after we eat.”

“I can eat and read at the same time.”

“I'm sure you're quite capable of it.”

“Then give it back.”

“No.”

I look at him.

He starts serving dinner.

I decide I am too hungry to argue over a folder.

A woman who works in the house, Marie, comes in long enough to set down a basket of warm bread.

“Thank you, Marie,” I say.

“You’re welcome, Miss Costa.”

She turns to leave, then pauses.

“Would you prefer a Coke, or are you all right with the sparkling water?”