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“I’m sorry, Charlie.”
I sighed and said, “It is what it is. I should have anticipated this and planned ahead. But instead, stupidly, I gave them more credit than they deserved. Damn, this lock picking kit isn’t working.”
“Do you want me to try?”
“Sure.” We traded places, and I took over the job of lookout.
While Dante went to work on the lock, I said, “I tried to come back home toward the end of last week, which was when I realized they’d changed the locks. My father swore at me through the door and told me I wasn’t welcome here anymore. He told me never to come back. And that’s fine with me, except for the fact that everything I own is locked up in that house, and I’d like at least some of it back.” I fought to keep my voice steady through that, mustering up all my bravado.
“What if they got rid of your stuff?” Dante was still working diligently on the lock.
“I guess that’s a possibility. I would have come sooner, but they’re always home. This is the one night of the week I knew they’d be gone, because this is when they play bridge with the Sullivans.” I turned to see how Dante was doing, and told him, “And they’ll be home in less than two hours, so could you step it up a bit?”
Dante stood up and said, “Yeah, I totally can’t pick that lock.”
“You can’t?”
“Nope.”
“How is that even possible?” I asked him.
He smirked at me and put the lock picking kit in my hand. “I’ve never picked a lock in my life.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Why would I have ever done this?”
“Um, because you’re in the mafia?”
“I’m in the real mafia, not the Kindergarten mafia. If you want me to shoot out the lock, that I can do.”
I raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you armed right now?”
“Do you want me to shoot the lock?”
“Hell no! Attracting the attention of the whole neighborhood with gunfire would be highly counterproductive. So does that mean you are armed right now?”
“Do you really want to know?” He was grinning at me, his dark eyes sparkling.
I thought about it for a moment, then said, “No. Come on, let’s try the back door.”
As we walked around the block to get to the alley behind my parents’ house, Dante took my hand. I guess I visibly flinched a little when he did that, so he asked, “Are you ok with holding hands?”
“Yeah. I mean, I’m not really used to public displays of affection. I only came out last week, remember? Before that, I was way, way in the closet. Like, back there with the winter coats and old prom dresses. But, you know, I need to get used to being out.”
“If it makes you uncomfortable, you can always let go of me,” he said, giving my hand a gentle squeeze.
I tightened my grip on him and said, “No thank you.”
When we got to the alley, I jiggled the back gate and found it locked as usual. I paused for a moment and regarded the seven foot high wooden fence with my hands on my hips. Then I dragged over a lidded trash can and climbed on top of it, and looked back down at Dante. “I can’t believe you wore a three thousand dollar suit tonight. Didn’t I tell you we’d be breaking and entering?”
He grinned up at me. “You did. I didn’t believe you.”
I hopped up onto the top of the fence and sat on it for a moment. “You can wait there if you want. It’d be a shame to mess up a suit that cost more than my truck.”
“No way am I sitting this out,” Dante said, removing his suit jacket and slinging it onto the top of the fence beside me. He rolled back his sleeves as he said, “And speaking of that piece of shit you drive, would you be offended if I bought you a new car?”
“What? Yes!”
He got up on the trash can and I jumped off the fence and into the yard. He then climbed onto the top of the fence somewhat awkwardly and balanced precariously for a moment. Finally he caught his balance and leapt into the yard, landing right in front of me. “This is fun,” he said. “I don’t remember the last time I hopped a fence.”
I grinned at that. “Probably because you’re not in the Kindergarten mafia.”
“Probably.” He smiled down at me, and drew me into his arms.
“What are you doing?”
“Thinking about kissing you.”
“Why?”
“Why?” He echoed incredulously.
“I mean, why now? Did hopping a fence make you randy?”
He laughed at that. “No. Well…kind of. Do you really call it being randy?”
“The word ‘horny’ is kinda gross if you think about it. I immediately picture a big frog with horns on its head. You know, like a horny toad? Either that, or I think of Austin Powers, saying, do I make you hoooorny?” I’d said that last part with a British accent, of course. And then I added, “Ew.”
