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Shecouldhire a private investigator. The cost wouldn’t be an issue. Someone in the PI business might be better at tracking down traces of a person. Yet, contacting someone like that, even with her good and protective intentions, seemed wrong, an invasion of her father’s privacy, beyond the pale. He was, after all, a grown man and could make his own successes and failures.
How would she like it if her dad hired someone to look into someone she was dating? She’d be furious.
Besides, how could she possibly start any kind of work with a detective if Trey wasn’t his real name? How would they even search? She decided she’d probably need to do a bit more snooping on her own before she could begin to entertain going down the PI road, if she ever did. The notion, in this dark hour of the night, seemed a little surreal, like something out of the movies.
And the lingering question: Was she being paranoid?
Honestly, she really had no reason, no concrete one anyway, to believe Trey was anything but a new companion for her hopeless romantic of a father. And who knew? Maybe the date went horribly, and Dad would never see the guy again. A girl could hope, right?
She downed the dregs of her drink and decided sleep would be better put off, even though the hour was late. Sleep might be better facilitated by one, or maybe two, more cocktails.
She slid into her robe again in preparation for heading into the kitchen.
Chapter Six
A COUPLE WEEKSinto the new year, and Connor was certain he’d really fucked up his first date with Trey Goodall. Since their evening out at Pacific Inn and their romantic walk home along Lake Union, he’d heard not a peep out of the man. Not a single text or call. And his profile on wingpeople? Gone.
He was sure it was because he hadn’t joined Connor in bed when he’d walked in on him on Connor’s king-size, all splayed out in his black briefs and a come-hither look. It had been more shocking than tempting. Connor had never been the type to go in for one-night stands, fuck buddies, or any other kind of casual sex. He didn’t have anything against those who did. If that was the way you rolled, and you were careful, or even if you weren’t, Connor figured adults could make their own choices in life. Who was he to judge?
Still, he knew he was in the minority when it came to gay men and hooking up. But he was a proud—and becoming a more and more hopeless—romantic. He just couldn’t manage an erection, or much else, unless there was an emotional connection. He needed it. He wanted it. Intimacy was impossible for him unless it was rooted in something beyond the physical. He was wired that way.
The sad thing was he thought he’d felt the stirrings of just such a connection as they were walking home that night. They’d held hands and looked out at dark water. Walked through drizzle lit by Christmas lights on boats. It was like a freakin’ Hallmark Christmas special!
Christmas had come and gone and the holidays, although he’d spent some amazing time with Miranda—dinner out at Harvest Beat in the Wallingford neighborhood and a concert at Benaroya Hall that featured the Seattle Symphony orchestra performingTheNutcracker Suitein the first act; in the second, they were joined by a jazz ensemble and did their take on Duke Ellington’s jazzy version of the same songs. It had been wonderful. She’d come home with him, and they’d opened presents by the tree. She’d given him a very thoughtful present—her top five favorite books of all time. There wasTo the Lighthouse,Wise Blood,A Confederacy of Dunces,Shuggie Bain, andWas, a stunning mashup ofWizard of Ozlore and legend. The gesture, more than the books, none of which he’d ever gotten around to reading before, brought tears to his eyes.
Why couldn’t it have been enough? He simply wished he’d had someone special to share the holiday with. Of course, Miranda counted! But Connor had seldom been alone, and the festivities of the season had the power to drive a holly-covered stake into his heart.
He’d tried not to show Miranda how hurt he was at his initial foray into dating becoming such a mess. Partly because he didn’t want to hear her “I told you so,” but also because it pained him so much, especially in light of what he’d learned about his ex, Steve…and how he was already engaged and preparing for spring nuptials. Steve and Rory were planning a wedding at a resort on Orcas Island, up near the Canadian border. Guests would be ferried from the mainland over to a little resort that grew its own produce, raised its own chickens, and had stunning water views.
Would Connor be invited? Would he even go, if so? Or would he want to be as far from such a celebration as imaginable? Maybe it would be a good time to sign up for that walking tour of Shetland he’d dreamed about ever since he’d watched the BBC Scotland-based detective series of the same name.
Or maybe, by the spring, he’d have his own love and would have released any bitterness toward Steve and could celebrate Steve and Rory’s happiness with a clear conscience.
That news, delivered via Facebook the very night he’d had his fateful date with Trey, shook him to the core. Before, even if he didn’t consciously acknowledge it, he’d had hope—that Steve might get over his midlife crisis and return home. But now he was forced to remove any pathetic hope he’d had of reconciliation. He hadn’t even been able to bring himself to tell Miranda the news about Steve. He was sure she knew—they were Facebook friends—but was too kind to mention it.
Now, Connor had just finished up his writing for that morning—a start on a new book where the murder victim had been discovered on a Wisconsin dairy farm, drowned in a vat of milk. The working title wasLow Fat Lowlife.
He busied himself in the kitchen with lunch. One of his New Year’s resolutions, urged on by Miranda, was to attempt to eat vegan. He’d cut red meat out completely, but all the other stuff, the eggs, the dairy, and especially fish, were proving hard to give up. How could one give up fish when one lived in the Pacific Northwest, where you could get great salmon and halibut just about any time?
“Just try it out for a month. See if it makes you feel any better. See how easy it can be,” she’d told him. “You really won’t miss anything. And think of the animals…” His daughter had been vegan herself for the past six years. He admired her for it but wasn’t at all convinced he could make such a diet work for himself.
Today, there was a lunch that, while plant-based, harkened back to his recent days as a full-time carnivore. An Impossible burger sizzled in his cast-iron skillet and a toasted Kaiser roll was slit open and waiting on a plate on the counter, with slices of tomato and red onion. Tater Tots were in the oven. He wasn’t sure they were vegan and wasn’t about to look at the ingredients list to find out, at least not until the bag of frozen spud delights was empty. What he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.
While his lunch finished cooking, he paused to look out of his dining room window. The skies were gray with heavy foreboding clouds. Fog obscured the Cascades across the almost-black waters of Lake Union. The mountains were certainly not out today.
“Matches my mood,” he mumbled cheerlessly.
And then his phone on the counter sang its little song, telling him he had a call.
He picked it up and gasped when he saw the home screen. Trey Goodall. The name on the screen set his heart to racing. He felt a few drops of sweat pop out on his forehead. His hand trembled just a little as he first switched off the burner under the skillet and then pressed Accept on his phone.
“Hello,” he said and cursed himself for the shaky voice. He truly had given up on hearing from this guy ever again, figuring they were not a match and never could be.
“Connor! How’ve you been, buddy?”
Connor held the phone out and away from him, staring at the screen with furrowed eyebrows. Had he slipped into some alternate reality? The guy had left in a huff and slammed his front door. Connor would never forget Trey’s face just before he exited the condo—the lifelessness and the coldness. It had chilled him that night and still chilled him.
And now, he’s all hale and hearty, acting as though nothing had happened?
