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“Um…Freddy,” he replied, his gaze darting back to me again.
“Freddy’s the other artist working here.” I went over to them, giving my attention to a very confused, bearded man. “Milo’s Wilma’s grandson.”
“Oh shit. I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you. I hope this isn’t rude, but we’re going upstairs now. I’m going to raid Tattoo—Gideon.” His head whipped in my direction. “I can call you Tattoo Gideon!”
“Do you have to?”
“Of course not. I would never call you something you don’t like. That reminds me—I have a question about Wilma Allen, but I’ll ask when it’s just us.”
Freddy’s scrunched-up face told me he wasn’t sure what to think, and while I sometimes felt that way with Milo, I didn’t like seeing it from Freddy. That affection I already felt for Milo wasn’t there. But Milo was a grown-ass man who could take care of himself—and also, he was someone I hardly knew, I reminded myself. I had no reason to feel protective over him.
“You good here?” I asked Freddy.
“Confused but good.”
“I have that effect on people,” Milo said. “Let’s go. I’m excited.”
Curious electricity sparked inside me. I wanted to know what he had to say—and hoped it wasn’t that he was going to sell or something crazy like that.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, and if you get any walk-ins tonight, you can text me to see if I want to come down. I don’t know what time Milo will be heading out.”
“Will do,” Freddy replied. “Nice to meet you, Milo.”
“You too,” Milo told him.
We headed for the door, then around the building to the stairs out back. I went up first, unlocked, and stepped aside, signaling for him to go in. Milo did.
“Oh, look. It’s your toe-torturers.” He pointed to my flip-flops by the door. “Do I need to take mine off?”
“Nah, it’s fine, and you be nice. I happen to like them.”
“I just have concerns for your feet.”
I watched as he went farther in, looking around as he did. It was a large apartment. The living room, dining room, and kitchen were open-concept. The kitchen was to the left, and a long breakfast bar separated it from the dining area to the right and the front room ahead, which ended at four picture windows along the far wall that looked out over the street below.
There was a short hallway on the left, with two small bedrooms and a bathroom. It was clear that whoever designed it had wanted more space in the main areas rather than where they slept.
“It’s kind of perfect, isn’t it?” Milo asked, his hand brushing the bar as he walked by, heading straight for the windows.
Guilt ravaged my insides. This was his. He should be living here, not me. “It is. Listen, I wanted to say—”
“Wait! I have good news I need to share first. And we have to cook. I might make myself at home in your kitchen. I hope you don’t mind. I need to distract myself anyway.”
I cocked my head, watching him as he made his way to the fridge, opening both it and the freezer. “Distract yourself from what?”
“I’d rather not say. It’s not really appropriate.” He didn’t look my way, kept his eyes on what he was doing.
Was he talking about his attraction to me? Because I didn’t think that was inappropriate. I thought it was hot. “Okay, well, obviously you don’t have to, but you can tell me anything if you want.”
“I know…which is weird. You have stuff for a salad…and…zucchini. Do you have marinara? There’s mozzarella.”
I had no idea where he was going with this, but I went to the cabinet and pulled out a jar.
“Perfect! We can slice these lengthwise, put some sauce and cheese on top and bake them like little cheese pizzas.”
“That’s not pizza.”
“It’s different pizza. Different can be good.”
Still no eye contact. I couldn’t help wondering if he was saying more than it sounded, if we were talking about more than simply his zucchini and marinara.
“You’re right. I like unique. It makes things more fun.” When he stared at me and grinned, I added, “Let’s do this.”
“If you have pizza crust, we can use that.”
“I don’t. Plus, I like to try new things.”
Milo pulled the supplies from the fridge. I asked him the temperature to preheat the oven, and he told me, and then we washed our hands and got to work, making zucchini pizza and salads. I wasn’t going to lie. I was pretty sure I’d miss meat, but I figured I could eat some when he left…if he left.
“So…your exciting news?” I prompted, the two of us standing side by side and working together.
“I can’t believe I almost forgot. I want to remodel the bookstore. I did some research into permits and what I’d need to do. The store is great, but not very up to date. I think I can do that while keeping the similar feel the people of Little Beach probably like, but the space could be worked so much better to have an area for comfy chairs to read. I thought about a kids’ area, and I’m going back and forth because they’re loud and sometimes too much for me. We really need a café. Nothing major, but coffee, pastries, and tables for people to meet up to chat or do work. I talked to Rachel, and she has some great ideas too. She’s also not in a position where she has to get back to work because she lives with her parents. I think we can still make good use of the space with these changes and not affect Conflicting Ink. I would never do that.”
