Page 17 of Cognac Secrets

I could hear her smile.

“You don’t,” she said. “You really don’t, but I would appreciate the help with this so much.”

“Well, I’ll come see what I can do,” I said.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” she gushed, and I laughed.

“I get off at five. I’ll head right over.”

“Okay,” she said.

“Alright,” I said. “Is this your cell number?”

“Oh, no, it’s the shop’s number,” she said.

“That’s alright. I’ll take it,” I said. I could tell she was extremely guarded. The edginess in her voice clearly telegraphing over the line.

She sounded relieved when she said softly, “Thank you.”

“It’s no problem,” I said. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“See you then,” she agreed.

I said, “Bye for now,” and ended the call.

I leaned back in my seat and rocked a little bit, staring at my burner on the desk where I’d set it after the call.

I didn’t honestly know what I was thinking, or really feeling. I was intrigued by her, glad that she called, excited to have a chance to see her again… but by the same token, I wasn’t sure I was ready for anything. I didn’t know why I flirted with her. I definitely found her attractive. What man with eyes in his head wouldn’t?

I sighed and shoved this mess of jumbled emotions aside to focus back on my computer screen and the task at hand.

While complicated, numbers were easy by comparison. They made sense. Always. They did what they were supposed to do when they were supposed to do it. While they could be manipulated, it was only in certain ways and in set fashions, and it had to be exceedingly cleverly done to obfuscate the manipulation from anything but the trained eye.

I was exceedingly good at what I did to that end, and went back to work, watching the seconds tick by like minutes on the clock above my desk, drowning in my urge to quit early and go now.

What I did do was work diligently to my next break before picking up the phone and calling up Hex.

“Yo,” he said.

“Hey, you ever build a crate to ship something big?” I asked.

He laughed. “What the fuck?” he demanded.

I gave him the short version and he was silent on the other end of the line for several moments.

“Bet,” he said. “She helped you. We owe her one. What time you want me to meet you there? I’ve got some shit I’ll throw in the back of the truck to make this work.”

“Thanks, man. I should get there between five-thirty and six o’clock, depending on traffic.”

“I got you,” he said. “See you then.”

“Thanks, man,” I said. “Appreciate it.”

“What’re brothers for?” he asked, and I could hear the grin in his voice. He hung up before I could say anything else, though.

I had to answer to the lot of them at church the day before about what was up with me. I wasn’t exactly keeping any of it a secret. It was just something I’d considered my own private pain for so long, and it’d just never come up. Spilling the beans had been therapeutic to an extent. The guys, to their credit, hadn’t fucked with me or made fun of me for it which told me they knew just how deeply affected I was.

I was equal parts grateful and frustrated by that.

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