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He takes out his phone and types a message. Tomorrow, the park opposite your building. What time are you free?
Anytime before one p.m.
He nods and types another message. I’ll see you at ten.
After showing me the phone, he leans down, kissing me again. I would’ve thought I’d find it gross, being able to taste what we did on his lips, but there’s something primal about it. It reminds me of how he looked with his silver-haired head between my legs, groaning.
Our tongues connect, pleasure pulsing, and then he stands with a shudder. He takes several steps backward. It’s impressive how he moves quietly and intently, like a man half his size. Opening the door, he slips out.
I miss him immediately, but I think about tomorrow and today. Not long after, I lie back and close my eyes, knowing sleep won’t come yet. My thoughts are cuffed to him, just like he cuffed me to the bed.
I wake early, before my alarm, wondering if last night was a dream. I never used to check my phone as soon as I woke up, but ever since I met Sam, I can’t help it. I roll over, pick it up, and smile as I read the text notification window.
Last night was incredible, Katy. I’m looking forward to seeing you in the daylight.
I’m going to get ready soon, I reply. Exciting!
I feel a shiver of excitement, like a reverberation from last night. My sex is still sore, but in a good way, a constant reminder of what we did. As I shower, I remember everything and the look in his eyes.
Then there was the knock on the door—Mom. I’m not sure what she’d think about me dating—is that what we’re doing?—a man more than twice my age. A hitman. What if she was against it and, as a result, refused to accept his help anymore? It could affect her sobriety. Or perhaps that’s a big scary thought designed to stop me.
Selfishly, I refuse to think about it as I slip into a flowy dress. I bought it at a thrift shop last year, but I’ve never worn it. I tried it on once and saw how the fabric settled against the shape of my body. I hated it, but as I put it on now, I try to see myself the way Sam sees me. He was so hard last night.
“Hear ye, hear ye!” Eli calls when I enter the main room. He’s at the kitchen island, his hand wrapped around a glass of juice. “The prettiest damsel in all the land. You’re a picture, dear.”
“Yes…” Mom turns from the sink, eyes narrowed, far more perceptive than usual. “You look beautiful. Are you going anywhere nice?”
“Just…” Work, I almost say, but I can’t, not in this outfit. “For a walk.”
“A walk?” Mom says like it’s the strangest thing in the world, and it is, or was, at least.
“I know. We couldn’t go for walks before. Too dangerous. Too many chances for things to go wrong, but it’s a sunny day, and I feel like going for a walk.”
Mom holds her hands up. “That’s fine, Katy. You can go for a walk.”
“Might be I’ll join you,” Eli says, shuffling off the seat. “I’ve got a meeting with a certain pawnshop proprietor.”
I remember what his son said about the jewelry.
“Selling your cane?” Mom jokes.
Eli frowns. “Reclaiming the dragon’s gold. Sorry, kiddo, but I’ll have to use up those pennies.”
“I don’t think we need them anymore, Eli,” I say warmly, and Mom narrows her eyes again, wondering why I’m so sure.
“So it’s settled,” Eli says, hobbling across the room. “Be a dear and help an old man, won’t you?”
“Uh, sure. See you later, Mom.”
“Have fun, you two.”
Eli clings onto my forearm as we walk into the hallway, then the elevator. I’ll never get used to the attendant, Larry, standing there with his neat outfit and trimmed mustache. He’s always respectful when he says hello, like I belong here, as though I don’t have to be afraid or ashamed.
“I’m going this way,” I tell Eli outside, gesturing across the street to the park.
He grins, moving his hand across his forehead as though smoothing his hair into place. “How serendipitous. I, too, can venture by this passage.”
“Where’s the pawnshop?”
“Three hours hence by the subway, I shall be there,” he says, plodding toward the park.
“Three hours on the subway alone, Eli?” I say, hurrying after him. “Why have you only decided to go to the pawnshop now? Is this about your son?”
He stops at a crosswalk, glaring at me. I feel the color drain from my face.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “Too many questions.”
“No, no, it’s not your fault.” He limps across the road as the cars come to a stop. “It’s the thought attic, girl. Everything got muddled up. I forgot about it. I did, y’hear? It dropped right out of my head, but I see it now. Remember the route. I’ll get there. My Excalibur. Do you know what that is?”
