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"Kind of. Yeah."
"Shit. I'm sorry. Really, I'd love to try it. I've just never had the cash to go."
"I should have asked you first. You're the local. I wanted to take you someplace nice, to say, you know…"
"Thanks for pulling my hit?"
A sharp laugh. "Yeah. I tried finding a Hallmark. They say they have a card for every occasion, but they seem to have missed that one. I thought we could have a quiet di
"Sure."
When I'd arrived, Qui
Last year, Qui
After the job ended, we had to go our separate ways, so we'd stepped back into friendship.
Months passed and, as much as we communicated, there'd been no whiff of anything but friendship. Maybe I should have been disappointed. But I wasn't. I was almost… relieved.
I have an odd relationship with risk. I grew up looking each way twice before crossing the road. Then, after my life-crash, one day I found myself perched at the hatch of an airplane, parachute on my back. Today, I couldn't live without the adrenaline rush of white-water rafting or rappelling down a cliff. But I still look both ways – twice – before crossing. I have tidy boxes for the risk in my life, and Qui
I like him. I think we could have something. As weird as it sounds, he could be exactly what my life needs. But even now – walking with him, enjoying his company, sneaking peeks and liking what I see – I can't feel what I want to feel. I'm sure it will come. I just don't want to rush into a decision. So I'm praying that whatever he needs to talk about, it isn't that.
We were still in disguise at di
We'd just stepped inside the base of the CN Tower when Qui
When he was done with his call, we went up the tower, where I was pleasantly surprised to find that the "revolving restaurant" didn't revolve very fast. I don't know what I expected: a merry-go-round? It moved so slowly you didn't notice until you looked up and realized the view had changed. And it was a good thing the motion didn't cause queasiness, because the prices certainly did. After I choked on the thought of paying fourteen dollars for a Caesar salad, Qui
Through the appetizers and into the entrees we talked about our ski seasons, comparing stories and injuries.
"I have to admit," Qui
"How come?"
He stabbed a pearl onion with his fork, his gaze fixed on his plate. "I guess I took another look at the brochure – couples in hot tubs, couples sipping hot chocolate, couples in front of blazing fires – and it just seemed so… couple-ish."
"Which isn't what you had in mind."
"I know I rushed things last time. The job was intense, and that spilled over."
"No kidding, huh?" I gave a small laugh. "Look, I totally understand – "
I broke off as his cell rang again. A murmured apology to me and he pulled it out. A matron at the next table shot me a glare, as if to say I shouldn't tolerate such behavior. Obviously she'd never dated a cop.
"Work," he said as he glanced at the display.
"I'll go to the washroom while you – "
He laid his hand on my arm as I rose. "Sit. Eat while it's warm. If I need to, I'll step outside, but it's probably the same as last time. He can't find a file."
I'd rather have had the excuse to leave for a minute, gather my thoughts, prepare for what was coming. Because I knew now that it wasn't good.
Since we'd met that morning, Qui
I should have been happy. Hadn't I been thinking the same thing? But it still stung. To have a guy be interested, then back off once he got to know me better? I only wish I could say it was the first time that ever happened.
Qui
Pause.
"When?"
Pause.
"Goddamn it!"
A furtive look my way, then a slight rise in color as he caught the glower of the woman beside us. He mouthed an apology.
I tried not to eavesdrop, focusing my attention on his free hand, drumming the table. He had square hands, big and broad. Smooth, but with ghosts of calluses and tiny scars, as if he'd worked with them once, maybe teen summers in construction.
He'd stopped drumming now, fingers gone still, tips raised a quarter-inch above the table, as if halted midtap. His fingers curled under, clenching as his voice went brittle before his fingers unfolded and collapsed, palm flat, to the tablecloth.
It took a moment to realize he'd hung up and was watching me, waiting until he had my attention. When I looked over, the crease between his brows was still there, now joined by faint lines at the corners of his mouth.
"You have to go," I said.
He nodded. "It's a case. I'm booked on a flight in two hours."
"Should we get the bill?"
"No, no. We're finishing. I get through security a little faster than the average tourist."
We ate for another five minutes before I said, "So what did you want to talk to me about?"
He moved a mushroom aside. "It wasn't important."
Before I could prod, he launched into the story of getting snowbound driving to a ski hill, and I realized I wasn't getting a better answer. Not tonight.