Page 15 of Holiday Hopefuls
Annoyingly, all the items he’s put in place to help calm his patients are also lowering my blood pressure.
“What was with the yelling?” he asks, shutting the door behind him. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you get louder than an upset librarian. And I’ve known you a long time.” John grins, crossing his arms and stretching the fabric of his sweater featuring a cartoon turkey, the light material making his midnight skin appear even darker.
“Just diving right in, I see.”
“Sorry, did you want to talk about the weather?”
Letting a scowl slip into place, I take a seat on the sofa.
John follows suit, sitting in the armchair so that neither of us has the upper ground. “Let me know if you’d like some calming music to play in the background. I think I have Bach on shuffle today.”
I unceremoniously flip him off, causing him to chuckle.
“So, are you gonna tell me?”
Considering my words carefully, I finally start with, “You made a flyer.”
The grin resting on his face drops into a blank mask. John blinks once, twice. “Maybe.”
I snort. “‘Maybe.’ Dude, I saw it.”
Dark eyes widen. “What? As in?—”
“As in, someone actually brought it here, looking for me. A woman.”
That really does it. John bursts out in laughter, leaning back into the chair for stability. “No way, man,” he says between laughing fits. “Are you serious?”
“Do I look like I’m kidding?” I ask, flat expression on point.
Tears gather in the corners of John’s eyes at my perfected mask of indifference. “Wow,” he says, catching his breath. Somehow, slapping his knee seems to help his respiratory difficulties. “It’s only been up a couple of days.”
“Days?” I practically shout. “You’re telling me any number of people could’ve seen that?”
He shrugs. “Pretty much.”
“What were you thinking?”
“That you were bored and needed a little excitement in your life.”
“Then take me bowling or something.”
John scoffs. “You hate bowling.”
“It would at least be less invasive than posting details of a private conversation on a flyer for anyone to see and track me down from.”
“Ok, but you can’t take Nacho bowling,” he points out.
“An annoyingly good point,” I grumble. “But there are plenty of activities we could do where she could be included.”
Thinking he may concede, I mentally prepare for a victory lap. Then he hits me with, “You said a woman came to see you?”
I groan. “What does that matter?”
“Did a woman come to see you?” John enunciates each word carefully, like this is my first time hearing the English language.
“Yes. Happy?”
“More than you know.” I don’t have to look at him to hear his grin.
