Page 47 of Huckleberry Hill
“How long have you been sitting on that one?”
“It just came to me. What can I say, I’m a genius.”
I chuckled. “Hey, thanks for getting my stuff from Gianni’s. Did the security guard give you any trouble?”
“No. None.”
I sighed. “One less thing I have to deal with. Thanks, Salem. I appreciate it.”
“No problem.”
“Did Poet go with you?”
“No . . .”
I paused. “What did you do?”
“Do? I did nothing.”
“I don’t believe you. You were supposed to take Poet so she could make sure you were on your best behavior.”
“Relax. I didn’t do anything crazy. Except write asshole in silver sharpie on every mirror in the apartment. And on the glass stove top.”
“You didn’t slice his mattress?”
“No.”
“You didn’t accidentally on purpose leave a faucet running with the sink plugged?”
“No.”
“Huh, you must be mellowing in your old age,” I teased.
“Hey. I’m only four minutes older than you. If I’m old, so are you.”
I paused. “I feel old. Tired.”
“That’s the breakup talking.”
“Maybe.”
“You’ll spring back. Also, take some vitamin D. It’ll help your mood.”
“Not a bad idea,” I said. “The winter has been long and gray.”
“I wasn’t talking about that kind of vitamin D.”
“What were you—Salem!”
“I got you to laugh, didn’t I?” she asked, bursting into giggles. “You like riding. I volunteer Declan as tribute.”
“How much wine have you had?”
“Just poured my first glass. Come on, there’s nothing to do there except ride a cowboy. It’ll bring you more joy than riding a horse, I’ll tell ya.”
“You’re shameless.”
“I’d like that on my tombstone, please.”
