Page 13 of The Home Grown
“Why can’t I tell Kathryn about the danish?” I say, handing him the paper bag before sinking down into the chair.
“Probably the same reason I can’t tell her about your visit.”He peers inside, his tongue poking out a little as he reaches for the pastry. “She’s got me on a diet. For the wedding, you know.”
“Right. But she’s not watching you at lunch, is she?”
“No, but she’d know if I bought one. At least I can say a client got me one and I couldn’t say no—I take it you’re nothere to talk about your duty as the maid of honour? Has Rick texted you yet? He asked for your number and?—”
“Yeah, he did. I think he’s trying to work out a few plans … but—” I clear my throat.
Greg takes a bite and leans all the way back, like he’s lounging on a deckchair.
“So … I appreciate you sparing me some time. I know you’re busy and with?—”
“What’s going on, Ellie? Is this about the parking ticket?” He comically pops his seat up so he’s facing me, a rogue flake of pastry dangling off his beard. I stare at it for a moment before answering.
“There wasn’t a parking ticket … which is why you can’t tell Kathryn.”
He shrugs, eyeing the danish. “We’ve already established that this is a confidential meeting.”
“You’ve got a little something … anyway. Let me …” I slide my handbag off my shoulder and open the clasp, all while Greg watches me, his brows furrowing together as he waits. The red plastic document wallet makes an appearance, and I undo the popper with a shaky hand before reaching inside.
“Just wanted to get your take on this.”
I hand the offending scrap of paper to him, trying my hardest to keep my hand steady. He sets the rest of his pastry down on the paper bag, wiping his fingers on the leg of his trousers before taking it from me.
“Wha—” His eyes flick between me and the paper for a moment before studying the document.
“It’s in German,” he says.
“It’s in Danish,” I correct.
He turns it over in his hands before settling on the upper side, musing over it for several seconds before pulling his phone from the top drawer of his desk.
I watch in nervous anticipation as Greg follows the same process I did last week, almost step by step. He taps somethinginto his phone and waits for the results to return, his face changing in expression several times before he settles on a sombre, professional bearing before meeting my eyes.
Then he flicks them back down to the paper.
Then back to meet my eyes again.
“Uh—” He shifts in his seat. “El, you know I’m a conveyancer, right?”
“Well, yeah, but law is law, right?”
“Well, yeah, but no. This isn’t my bag.”
“But you know someone who can help?” My tone rises a few levels as desperation sets in.
“Sure but—” He runs his hands through his hair and reaches for his coffee, taking a gulp before loosening his tie. “Where did you get this?”
“It turned up in the bags of old papers. I wouldn’t have thought anything of it, but then I saw a video while doomscrolling and … look.”
I pull my phone out of my bag and work my way through the process of pulling up the video I’m referring to before handing it to Greg; waiting for the longest time as he watches.
He frowns several times before clearing his throat.
“Are you sure this is legit?” he asks.
“Honestly, no … which is why I’m here, but I don’t have the best luck with this sort of thing.”
