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“Survival tools. Coffee. Candy. Spoons. Mugs. Tampons. Baby food.” She shuffles stuff around. “And a knife.”
“What kind of knife?” Tealey wielding a knife was not something I had on my bingo card. Impressive.
“A switchblade. I was thrown against the wall once when I denied benefits to someone. I felt horrible about it and gave him twenty dollars. Guess it wasn’t enough.” Anger burns in my veins, and I clench my fists. He physically attacked her. Twenty bucks wasn’t what he was after. It’s bullshit she was put in that position.
“What the hell, Tealey? I never heard about that.”
“I think you were in Aspen at the time.” She starts eating again, leaving me stunned. What the hell? I was skiing when I should have been here for her. No one could have predicted the attack, but I had a right to know and make my own decision on how to react. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
“We didn’t want to put a damper on your trip,” she says as if the attack was nothing. “And now we have a security system.”
I never thought about her job being dangerous. Glancing over my shoulder, I stare at the front entrance. Anyone could walk in off the street, and her cubicle is the second closest to the door. “That’s good, but how will another attack be prevented?”
“Sometimes people do desperate things. That’s the only time I’ve ever been threatened. Every other time I had met with him, he was fine, even optimistic about the future.”
I’m not going to harp on this to her, feeding a fear that I’m sure she’s tried to bury. But I’m glad she’s letting me in, sharing parts of herself that I never knew about before. Sharing her life with me—the good and bad parts. We all have them in varying degrees. I just hope her life isn’t on the line because of her chosen career.
Pushing aside my feelings on the matter, I turn back to her. I shift on the chair that was never meant to be comfortable and redirect. “You ready for the move?”
“Ready to get it over with. Cammie has a clipboard and printouts. I suspect it will move fast if she has her way. If Cade has his, he and Jackson will be drinking beer and taking their time.”
I chuckle. “That’s for sure.”
“Not sure if Marlow will be there. She said she will, but . . .” She looks around conspiratorially. “Cammie and I have our suspicions that she’s secretly dating someone.”
She brings a spoonful of soup to her lips and grins before shoving it in her mouth. There’s something in her eyes—an amusement—and I want to ask her about it, but I don’t.
“This soup is so good,” she says, the words punctuated with more gusto than I’ve ever heard over a liquid.
I might have ulterior motives—to see her, feed her, make her smile. It worked, and I give myself a mental pat on the back. I did good.
“She’s single,” I say. “She doesn’t have to sneak around.”
She’s quick to shrug, and then using her spoon to talk, she says, “That’s my point. Why is she sneaking around when she doesn’t have to?”
I think I got lost somewhere in this conversation when I got distracted by Tealey’s smile.
She says, “Marlow loves to talk about her dates; the good, the bad, and the ridiculous. She loves to share the details, and we love to hear them. That’s like our group M.O. when it comes to dating. No detail is off-limits. But she hasn’t said a peep in a week or so.”
“Maybe she hasn’t gone on a date worth talking about this week.”
She plants her elbows on the desk, resting her chin in her hands. “You’re close with her.” Not that close. “Do you know anything?”
Only that she roped me into some scheme to get an apartment out of the deal . . . A hookup possibly the other night, but nothing out of the ordinary. “No.”
“Bummer. I was hoping for insight.” Though she starts eating again, her gaze keeps flicking to me. She then takes hold of her water bottle, twisting the cap on and off, seeming to contemplate.
“Something on your mind, Bell?”
As if the acknowledgment comes out of left field, she pulls her attention back to me. “I’m told I ask too many questions.” She sighs softly. “Hazard of the job.”
“Are you wanting to ask me a question?”
“I don’t mean to pry.”
“You can ask me anything. That’s what roommates do. We pry into each other’s lives.”
Under rolling laughter, she asks, “Is that what they do? Pry into each other’s lives?”
“I don’t know.” I laugh. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had one. But I imagine getting to know the person you live with isn’t an intrusion. It’s a part of building a friendship. Right?”
She thinks about it. “The other night was nice.” She looks down, shaking her head. “Not that we’ll be spending much time together after I move in. You have a life. Your work. I know you’re super busy. I just meant—”
