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Mrs. Clarke answers with her usual sweet grin and hands me a rectangular metal tin full of butter cookies. “Here you go, dear. I packed some extras.” She peers around me and waves to Jocelin.
He rolls down his window and waves back. “Hi Mrs. Clarke. It was nice to meet you.”
“Good to meet you too. Come visit next time you’re here, and I’ll have more treats.” She looks up at me with a twinkle in her eye. “Your boyfriend seems very nice. And he’s quite good looking!”
I laugh and glance back at Jocelin. “Thanks, Mrs. Clarke. I think so too. On both counts. And thanks for the cookies. Is there anything I can do for you before we head out?”
She pats my arm. “No dear. I’m fine. You boys have an enjoyable evening. Tell your family I said hello.”
“I will. Thanks again, and have a good evening.” I turn back toward the car, this time walking the long way around the fence so I don’t damage the cookies. When I’m back in the car, I hand the tin to Jocelin and give him a stern look. “I’m trusting you with these. Don’t let me down.”
He laughs and clutches the box to his chest. “I will defend these cookies with my life. You have my word.”
I back out of the drive, and Jocelin turns in his seat to face me. “I’ve been wondering about something. You said Tadhg and Quinn’s business partner, Tom, is your best friend. Isn’t he a lot older than us? Where did you two meet?”
“UW.” I rub the back of my neck and glance at Jocelin. “It’s not a story that makes me look good, but it’s my history. Please keep in mind that I’ve grown up some, and though I’m a work in progress, I’m better than I was.” Jocelin reaches out and squeezes my hand encouragingly, so I continue. “Tom was an advisor for ROTC.”
Jocelin’s jaw drops. “Wait, you were in the ROTC?”
I laugh and shake my head. “No. Tom was. I was just an out-of-control twenty-year-old who liked to get in fights and mouth off. Anyway, to make a very long and very unflattering story much shorter, Tom watched me have a meltdown at the campus fitness center. I almost punched another student, whowasa jerk and possibly, actually deserved it but definitely didn’t deserve the level of anger I was experiencing. Tom says he witnessed a few of my meltdowns that year.” I risk a glance at Jocelin, but his face gives nothing away. “I hadn’t started therapy yet and was a loose cannon. It’s not something I’m proud of, but it is what it is. Nothing I can do about it now, except not be that person. And I try.” I shrug. “Anyway, Tom intervened at that point and dragged me off to the campus boxing facility. Threw gloves at me and told me to hit him instead.” A laugh bursts out of me as I remember how confused I was. “Imagine I’m in the middle of a rage, and some huge guy, calm as you please, steps in the middle of a fight I’m trying to pick and drags me off to a completely different part of the facility. And for some reason, I willingly follow along behind him.” I shake my head again. “Don’t get me wrong. I was mouthing off the entire time, and he wasn’t literally dragging me along. In fact, he wasn’t touching me at all. Anyway, I’m standing there, holding a pair of boxing gloves, and this huge guy is telling me to put them on and hit him, if I can.”
Jocelin laughs. “What did you do?”
“I put on the gloves.”
“Did you hit him?” I glance at Joce again, relieved that he’s not freaked out by my past behavior. In fact, he’s leaning in, eyes focused on me, eagerly waiting for an answer.
I shake my head. “Nope. Not for lack of trying, though. Tom was an amateur boxer in his twenties. For ROTC or something like that. I don’t remember. But he was top of his club. Anyway, I spent the next hour trying to hit him, and he spent that hour egging me on, hands lowered, not even trying to defend himself with anything but footwork and dodging. By the end of that session, I was exhausted, but I wasn’t angry anymore. I was too tired to be angry. Tom dared me to come back again the next day, which I did, and we did it all over again. And again. And again.” I look over at Jocelin. “He saved my life. Or at least, he saved my sanity. It didn’t fix everything, but it fixed enough. And it helped me get to a place where I could admit I needed to talk to a professional about my anger and my parents’ deaths.” I shrug. “We’ve been friends ever since that first day.”
“And is he the one who got you started on architecture?”
“No. I was already planning that as my major. It was just another happy coincidence and something else we could talk about.”
We’re both quiet for a minute, lost in our thoughts. “I’ve only met him a few times, but I always get a solid, calm vibe from Tom. He’s a nice guy.”
“He’s a great guy. The best.”
The rest of the drive to Bjorn’s is an uneventful trip into the more affluent part of town. I pull up to the wrought-iron gate in front of the house and key in my code. The gates swing in, and I continue down the drive, past the front of the house, to park off to the side near Astrid’s red BMW M850i. As we approach the house, I gently nudge Jocelin away from the door. “Stay right there, and don’t move.” At first, he’s confused, but I see the moment he remembers why this is necessary. I step up to the door, take a deep breath, brace myself, and open it. In a flash, I’m holding sixty pounds of wiggling Norwegian Elkhound. I futilely attempt to block all the licking as Pita whines with excitement. “Good boy, Pita! Good boy! I missed you too, buddy. It’s been a whole day since you’ve seen me.”
I put him down, but Pita’s having none of it until a loud command comes from inside the house. “Pita! Heel!” He pivots and runs to sit behind Bjorn.
Brushing the hair from my shirt, I glare at my brother. “I thought you were going to train him not to greet people like that.”
Bjorn scratches Pita’s furry head, then snaps his fingers, pointing in the house. “Go.” Pita dashes inside, and Bjorn offers me a hand. “I was, but then I figured it’s a great defense against home invasions.”
I snort and take his offered hand. “Thanks. Has he gotten heavier, or is it just me?”
“It’s you, little brother. It’s always you.” Bjorn yanks me into a bear hug. “Good to see you. How are you?”
I return the hug, then shove Bjorn playfully. “Astrid’s here, so I’m sure you know how I am. Speaking of which, Bjorn, you remember Jocelin Allard. Joce, my brother Bjorn.”
Bjorn smiles and extends his hand. “Hey Jocelin. Nice to see you again. It’s been a while.”
Jocelin shakes his hand. “I think the last time I was here was a few years ago for a cookout of some kind.”
“Probably. I love a good barbeque.” I snort at the understatement. Give Bjorn any excuse to grill and he’s there. Rain, snow, wind, he doesn’t care. “Come on in, and let’s get you a drink. You guys have some catching up to do on that count.” He looks at me and smirks. “You’re late. Something detain you?” He glances meaningfully at Jocelin.
My face heats, and I flip him the middle finger. “As a matter of fact, yes. Mrs. Clarke baked cookies, and I had to wait for them to cool before she’d give them to me.”
