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Hunter, reading my thoughts, covered my hand and squeezed. Warm and sure.
He drove us to campus and we went to class and sat side by side in the atrium. I barely heard a word the lecturer said, so aware of Hunter next to me. How would it feel to announce to everyone he was my boyfriend? To have Hunter clasp the back of my leg in public, claiming me as his?
Giddiness swept through me. Fuck.
I caught Red Jeans’s curious glance and whispered intimately in Hunter’s ear. Hunter whispered back in mine. “Sure, I’ll have coffee with you after. Done marking your territory, Marc?”
I smiled against his ear. “Not even close.”
I was feeling like I should be alone in a bathroom cubicle. My insides were liquid with hope and it wasn’t pretty.
Twelve-thirty sharp, Hunter and I were ushered into our scheduled meeting with Kyle Gable Green.
We entered a large room lined with dark bookshelves. Sunshine stamped blocks of light over the plush carpet, and a huge mahogany desk filled the space to our left. Behind it, Kyle rose in acknowledgement. He appeared—for seventy—like he ran marathons and forewent sugar. His wide smile waned, replaced by painful panic in his eyes.
He helped me remove one of the two high-back chairs and Hunter rolled next to me.
Kyle stiffly offered water. I accepted and liquid plopped unevenly into my glass.
“I was trying to place you the last time we met,” Kyle said, looking at me. “You were the one treating your friend so disgracefully.”
I recalled the moment in the gallery where I’d tossed sparkling wine over Hunter’s lap, and heated.
Hunter cleared his throat. “You misunderstood the scene, sir. My . . . friend was saving my dignity.”
“Your dignity?”
“I had an accident.”
“Ah,” Kyle said, understanding. “You’re from Scribe, and you’re here to convince me to save your gazebo. I’m afraid you’re wasting your time.”
I lifted the glass of water to my lips. “I’m not convinced that’s the case.”
Kyle’s brows rose.
“See,” I said after a refreshing sip, “Hunter and I were chatting about you last night, and we made some, quite frankly, remarkable realizations.”
“Realizations.” He cast a suspicious gaze between us.
I winked at Hunter, and his dimple popped. “We became aware of rather intriguing facts.”
Kyle stirred on his chair. “Facts?”
“Yes, and we decided not to press you on the Gazebo today.”
Confusion deepened the shadows around his eyes. “Then why are you here?”
Hunter lifted the Archie tin from his lap. He slid it toward Kyle Gable Green, whose face drained of color. His mouth parted in shock, and he tentatively touched the tin. “You really did find my letters.”
“You know where, too.”
He carefully opened the tin that Hunter had repaired.
I cleared my throat. “They were heartbreaking and beautiful.”
Kyle lifted a letter out and read his words, voice gruff, soaked with memory and emotion.
“February, nineteen-seventy-three. Dear V, I’ve had it with this stupid war. With this stupid world. You’re halfway across the world, fighting, making friends and losing them, and I do nothing but organize petitions in a fruitless effort stop the insanity and bring you home.
“I visited your sister yesterday. Her belly was swollen, close to her due date, and she shook as she told me her husband had died, that she had to move out of her rental. I went to our Gazebo and buckled into soul-wrenching sobs.
“I want you back. Even if you never forgive me. Just knowing you’re living a long, happy life is all that matters.
“All my prayers, K.”
Kyle shut his eyes briefly, then steeled his emotions. “This was written a long time ago.”
I knew this tactic, and it wouldn’t work on me. “I know you still care for him.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” He rose. “I think that wraps this meeting up, thank you.”
“You will thank us,” I said, leaning in, “because Hunter and I did a little geek-forcing. See, I’ve been thinking about moving out of my uncle’s basement, and I asked Hunter to help me. We’d visited Victor’s place and heard about what a fantastic rental agency he had. How he hadn’t had a rent raise in years.” Hunter seamlessly took over.
“Victor said when he returned from war, he rented a place through an agency called True Property Management. The prices for similar properties were astronomically more expensive than what the Albacores are paying. I hunted around and discovered something curious.”
Hunter winked at me and I resumed, “True Property Management is owned by Gable Green Enterprises. It is you. You are Victor’s landlord. You’ve kept his rent low. Not only his, also his sister’s, and his sister’s daughter’s. You’ve been quietly taking care of the Albacore family since,” I looked at Hunter, “when was it, honey?”
Hunter whipped his head toward mine, lips hopping. “1973, love.”
The endearment shivered through me and I chomped down on a grin. I met Kyle’s saddened gaze. “You helped Victor’s sister find a place to live when she was pregnant while Victor was at war, and when he came home, you helped him too. You have been helping him—my guess, in many ways—forever.”
