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“Thanks. I’m glad you like it.” Rob nods with a smile. It’s obvious he’s trying to temper his pride.
“So, what did you do in the Navy?”
“He was a major,” Matty responds on his brother’s behalf.
Major Robson Hartley.
Taste buds be damned, my tongue is dancing as I rehearse that name.
Rob nods, and then explains to me, “I was a SEAL for a couple of years, then spent the rest of my active days in a submarine unit.”
He was a Navy SEAL? He may not be on active duty now, but I was right when I thought he looked like a soldier. His taut body is a telltale sign that he’s a formidable man.
“Do tourist buses go past your house? You know, the LA celebrity tours thingy?” I can feel the abruptness and inelegance of my question, and Rob’s reaction seems to confirm it. I’m simply trying to stop myself from imagining what I might see under that sweater and those jeans my host is wearing, and I’m failing miserably.
“Yes. We’re next door to Valentino.”
“Oh. The cheaper part of Beverly Hills, I guess. Where’s Oprah?”
Rob laughs as Matty stares at us blankly.
“You’re a popular man, though,” I say.
“Who said that?”
I put a big piece of fish in my mouth, chewing while thinking. “People.”
His eyes tell me he knows what I mean—Google and social media.
“I’m not. Really. If you’re here one day, and one of those tourist vans stops by, ask them if they know of a Rob Hartley.” He leans back, gazing at me.
Matty, not amused by the subject that is apparently foreign to him, steers the conversation his way. “So, Amber, how did you become a bear doctor?”
Crafting has always been in my blood. I’ve been sewing, mending, crocheting and all that since I was a kid. I love all dolls (including the creepy ones) and stuffed toys, but teddy bears are my ultimate passion. I don’t know where I got it from—strangely, neither my dad nor my mom had any creative streaks, as both were true-blue accountants.
“Well, I’ve always loved bears—toys and real ones. I taught myself how to sew and stuff. Then I went to Germany and worked at the Steiff factory.”
Rob says, “I should take Matty there someday.”
“Take me where?”
“Bjork’s birthplace.”
The boy seems confused. “He was born in Switzerland, right?”
Rob flashes a sideway smile at both me and Matty. “His real birthplace.”
“Oh…” Matty frowns and goes back to his dinner.
Our plates empty, wine drunk, and ice cream bowls licked clean, we hear Matty yawn.
“You tired, pal?”
The boy nods.
“I’m gonna tuck Matty into bed. Would you wait?”
“Of course. I’ll clean up.”
