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“Fishing, Fleet?” she countered with a snicker as they both came to their feet and wove their way out of the restaurant between tables.
“Maybe,” he answered, giving a cheerful wave to the band just before he held the door open for her.
When was the last time anyone had done her that courtesy? Talia definitely liked it.
“But if you don’t feel comfortable telling me, that’s okay,” Fleet promised her.“Ilive above my studio,” he added.
“I’m just teasing,” Talia assured him. “I have a place in Old Town, just north of here. It’s not much. A small cottage, but it’s home. Now to get back to your first question, I’d love to walk around for a while and digest, so I don’t have to hit the hay on a full stomach.”
“Sounds good to me,” he replied, but the line between his brows deepened as he attempted a half-grin.
Well, shit.She’d forgotten he didn’t feel well. “Your headache still doing a number on you?” she asked solicitously.
“Yeah. It’s persistent tonight. But I’ll be fine after a good night’s sleep,” he brightened.
“You sure you’re up for a walk?” Talia asked.
He nodded. “The unaccustomed fresh air will do me good.”
“It’s Maine,” she countered impishly. “There’s always fresh air.”
“Not if you’re trapped in your studio twelve hours a day,” he retorted. “Only when I’m off do I get my fill. The air and the mountains were the reason I stayed here after college, you know.”
“Where are you from, originally?” she asked, before realizing she might have opened a can of worms. “If you don’t want to say, that’s okay.” She didn’t tend to want to talk aboutherchildhood home.
“Alabama,” he told her, but she could sense his hesitation. “Huntsville to be exact. My parents are still there, and I uh, see them every so often. How about you? Are you from Maine, originally?” He’d changed the subject pretty quickly. What was up with that?
Of course, who was she to talk? She’d avoided all mention of her home town, too.
Purposely.
“I’m actually from Skowhegan,” she answered without enthusiasm.
“And do you still have family there?”
“I do,” she told him, her discomfort with the subject had her mumbling. She didn’t like this subject, but Fleet couldn’t know that, so she continued. Without enthusiasm. “My parents and one sister.”
He must have finally clued in to her reluctant vibe because he dropped the subject. “How often are you in Orono?” he asked.
“Not that often,” she admitted, able to take a full breath now that he’d segued into a different topic. “I work a lot of shifts for the Old Town department, and when I’m off, I’m generally chilling at home with my cat and my plants.”
“You have a cat?” he asked, grinning again.
“I do. Her name’s Majorca, or May, for short.”
“I sense a story behind that name,” Fleet teased, taking them in a direction Talia hadn’t walked before. But she wasn’t worried. Fleet had a good reputation in town—she’d done a little covert research on him—andhe was friends with Everlee. Not to mention that she could more than take care of herself in a fight if it came down to it.
Her feet moved companionably next to his as she talked openly again. “I did a semester abroad in Spain,” she said, “and became addicted to the marmalade they make from the bitter oranges grown on the island. Fast forward a few years, and I got this kitten, and found she went nuts over it. I can’t leave it out of the refrigerator, or she finds a way to get into the jars to eat it all.”
Fleet laughed. “I would have thought you’d call her marmalade, then.”
“Too conventional for an orange cat,” she countered with a smile. “And there’s nothing conventional about May.”
“I’d like to meet her someday,” he replied. “But no pressure.”
Because Fleet dared mention a future, Talia grew brave and reached for his hand, threading her fingers through his. “No pressure felt.”
“Nice,” he sighed, glancing down at their combined digits. “I was wondering how I could take your hand and do it smoothly without looking like an asshole.”
