Page 72 of Bait and Switch
“What’s my what?”
“What’s your wooden spoon?” Casey held up the spoon-shaped plywood.
Gabe opened his mouth to say something probably something stupid, but the thing was?—
“I don’t have one.”
Casey frowned. “You don’t have a sentimental memory? Something that you’ve saved for a rainy day? A recollection you set aside to bring out when you feel nostalgic?” He held the spoon up. “When I see these ridiculous spoons, I think of when my family used to visit Long Beach—the world’s longest beach, supposedly. Anyway, we’d always go to Marsh’s Free Museum, and Mom would let us get the little cups of ice cream.”
“Uh, yeah, no.” Gabe shook his head. “Nope. Heidi, my mother, did not take vacations. She was maybe the least sentimental person I’ve ever known. I can’t think of a single nostalgic memory.”
Sentiment doesn’t pay the rent, Chance.
“Well,” Casey said, shooting him an unexpectedly gentle look, “maybe we can create one.”
Gabe blinked moisture out of his eyes.
“There’s a lot of dust in here.” There was no dust.The Barbarawas the very definition of shipshape.
After one lastdrag around the insides his bowl, Casey set it and plywood splinter down. “That was incredible. Excellent choice. Now, um, uh, do you want to see my etchings?”
“What? Etchings?” Gabe asked, looking up from his also empty bowl, confused by the abrupt change of subject. Ice cream to etchings, what the hell.
“I keep them near my bunk.” He snorted a laugh and shook his head. “I’m so not good at this, I don’t do this”—he waved a hand between them—“very often.”
“Ohhh.” Gabe nodded and allowed a wise-ass smile to curve his lips. “Yes, please, I’d love to see your etchings. Did people really fall for that back in the day?”
Casey stood up and set the empty crockery in the sink.
“No idea, you’re the elder in this scenario.”
TWENTY-FOUR
Casey
Thursday
“So,where are these etchings of yours?” Gabe asked as he paused on the other side of the threshold and looked around Casey’s bunk in one sweeping glance.
BecauseTheBarbarawas a modest-size sailboat, there wasn’t a lot of open wall space. Casey had an Ansel Adams calendar pinned up and a framed snapshot of Mickie and him from Casey’s tenth birthday.
“I keep them under the bed. That way, they’re easier to find when I lure sexy, gullible, older men to my lair.”
“Gullible, me? Pffft.”
Casey leaned one shoulder against the doorframe and watched as Gabe sat on the edge of the mattress and bounced up and down.
The hell? “What are you doing?”
“Testing the springs, of course. I mean, if you’re kicking the tires, this old man needs to make sure there’s no chance of injury. You could easily break me, you know. I’m delicate.”
“You are not delicate.”
“Not going to let me have my harmless fantasy, are you?”
Casey’s gaze caught Gabe’s amused one. The man seemed to have a bottomless well of affability. He supposed that it was a helpful character trait for a con man. Or a boyfriend. He shifted his stance, recognizing that he was slightly anxious.
“I, ah, don’t have any condoms and haven’t been tested in a while. It’s not as if I do this sort of thing often.”
