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I press a palm to my forehead. “What if I was seeing Rob?”
“Ma chérie?”
“He’s my boyfriend, Clara.”
“La merde!”
“Who in the LAPD knows about Amalia Scifoni?” I ask.
“Only the lead detective, the one I gave you the number for. Sergeant Laura Garcia.”
“Does she know about Rob?”
“No.”
Aidan is no fool. I’m sure he knows about Rob and Lina. My hope is that he has no interest in pursuing them—orhim, precisely.
“Amber, good afternoon.” Mrs. Jackson calls out as she enters. She’s come with her husband to pick up Proby the Steiff Studio Elephant.
“Hey, I’ve gotta go,” I tell Clara, hanging up. I put the blanket aside and jump off the couch. “Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Jackson.”
“Hello, Amber. Is Proby ready?”
Standing at almost six feet tall, Proby is my biggest patient yet. He barely fits through the shop door. It’s not an antique toy. It belongs to Mrs. Jackson’s granddaughter, who rides the gray elephant regularly. The seam on Proby’s back had unraveled, and it took me days to fix it due to his size.
Among the madness relating to Rob and Aidan that swirls around me, I thank my job for giving me a reprieve today, even for just a few minutes.
“He’s all yours, Mrs. Jackson,” I say, rolling Proby out of the workroom using a special transfer board.
“I’ve got it,” Mr. Jackson says, grabbing the elephant’s front leg to control the direction of the board, while Mrs. Jackson is in charge of the rump, pushing gently to help her husband.
The giant toy attracts the attention of neighboring shop owners and passers-by, including—
Rob Hartley, wearing yet another sleek business suit.
“I’ll give you guys a hand,” he says, taking over for Mrs. Jackson as they load Proby onto a trailer.
I lean on the door jamb, slanting my head, telling Rob that I enjoy watching him.
The elephant offers no resistance when his rump is pushed by Rob’s wide palms.
“Thank you,” Mrs. Jackson says, mesmerized as my man strolls toward where I’m standing. Then she points at me, telling me ‘she knows.’
Rob turns his head toward Mr. and Mrs. Jackson’s car. “That is one hell of a toy!”
“It’s magnificent.” I gaze in the same direction. Then I lead him into the shop.
He pulls me close, patting me. “What are you wearing under there?”
“Just my bra,” I answer casually.
“Shame.” He squeezes my waist, and then moves up to my breasts. “Come on another date with me,” he whispers, breathing into my hair.
“On the boat again?” I was proud I’d made it there, but going back again won’t be a walk in the park for me.
“No. Somewhere else.” He starts kissing my forehead, but then he swiftly moves to my lips, as if he’s going to strip me naked right here.
I give him an okay on the date proposal, and he reins in his eagerness. He curls his lips, giving me a massaging kiss that will keep me alive until I’m a hundred and two. We’re still young, and we’re on a journey. With a kiss this good, the urge to tell him who I am escalates. Will I be ready? I’m not prepared—but then, maybe preparation has nothing to do with it.
