Page 72 of Loverboy
“More for me.” She closes the laptop and stows it. “I can go, right?”
“Yeah. As soon as you tell me what you saw here today.”
“Not a thing.” She crosses her arms, impatient. “This is boring as fuck, Gunnar.”
“But that’s agoodthing,” I remind her.
“So you say. But it’s also why I’m never asked to sit still.”
She’s right—Max employs her strictly as an investigator. He doesn’t ever ask her to be anybody’s security detail. I wonder why she’s here today, but I can’t ask that question now.
“Any news?” she asks me. “I’m dying to know what was on that thing.” She’s referring, of course, to the camera she recovered from Smith’s room last night.
“There was some chatter.” I pull out my phone, which is a secure device. And I open an app we often use to communicate privately. Using the pad of my finger, I slowly draw a series of letters. Each one disappears a moment after I draw it, but not before Scout can see that I’ve written R-U-S-S-I-A-N and then T-U-R-K-I-S-H.
Her eyes widen at that last one. “Really? How many languages can one guy know?”
I shrug. But the news is troubling, because it makes Max’s hunch look stronger. Smith may be working for the same arms dealer who ruined Max’s life ten years ago.
“All right. I’m out of here,” she says. “Go talk to your girl.”
Your girl. I like the sound of that better than I really should. I spent the whole day thinking pleasant thoughts about Posy. It’s been a long time since a woman got under my skin the way she does.
Scout gathers up her stuff. “Later, Gunn. You’ve already cut into my leisure time.”
“Later.” I walk away without asking what her idea of leisure is. Bungee jumping, probably. Or knife-throwing. She’s an adrenaline junkie.
My leisure time today began at the shop’s seven a.m. opening hour, when Duff came in to relieve me. After explaining to Posy that there would be a Company agent on the premises until further notice, I went home and took a two-hour nap, after which I did a quick workout and then had a meeting with Max.
But now that closing time is near, I’m here to escort Posy on her run to the bank, and then wherever else she wants to go.
When I peek into the kitchen, I catch Posy alone. She's bent over her work, braiding three delicate strands of dough together and humming to herself.
I couldn’t tell you why I stay silent for a moment, just watching her. But there's an energy to Posy that's always fascinated me. Piemaking isn't a life or death job, but she brings a laser-like focus to everything she does.
It was the same all those years ago behind the bar. I used to roll my eyes every time she'd carefully measure out the liquor for a gin and tonic. But I’m not rolling them anymore. Posy isn’t the pampered girl I assumed. She’s so much more than that.
She must feel my gaze on her, because she turns suddenly, startled. “Jeez, Gunnar. I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Sorry,” I grunt, stalking across the room towards her.
She bites her lip and looks away. Like she's not sure how to play it. But I know just what to do. I stop in front of her and lean down, giving her a single, soft kiss. “Are you okay? You look tired.”
“Can't think of why that might be.” Her cheeks go pink as she says it.
Chuckling, I lean in and kiss her again, a good one this time. It's a kiss that remembers all the fun we had last night.
Until the back door bangs open. “Are youkissingPosy?” Jerry demands.
“Yes. People do that sometimes.”
“You have to ask her first,” Jerry insists.
“Right,” I agree.
“I didn’t hear you ask,” Jerry argues.
“He asked very quietly,” Posy replies as she puts the heel of her hand in the center of my chest and pushes me away.
