But there was no way I was going to stop. There was too much at stake and I was too close. I’d just have to be smarter about it. It was Friday morning, which meant that I could still use writing the obit as my cover for a little while longer. I’d met my other deadlines for the week, but that only meant I’d soon be getting new assignments. My time was running out on the Davenport story. I knew I’d have to make the next twenty-four hours count.
After formulating a loose plan of what I wanted to get accomplished that day, I texted Ryan to see if he could take Coltrane with him to work. Of course, he came right over.
“Drop him off about six tonight?” Ryan asked after he loaded a very excited Coltrane into the back of his pickup.
“Sounds good,” I said. “Thanks again. I’ve got a long day ahead and I think he’ll have more fun with you than here all alone.” And he will be safe, I thought. I couldn’t tell Ryan about the note for fear of getting yet another lecture from yet another man trying to “keep me safe.”
“He can chase squirrels while I inventory the hay bales,” he said, and then gave me an appraising look. “You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Because you know. . .”—he dug his hands into the pockets of his shorts—“even though, we’re not, you know . . . anymore, you can still talk to me. I’ll always be here for you.”
“Thanks,” I said. Given the events of the past twenty-four hours, he couldn’t know how much his words meant to me. And I wasn’t sure I wanted him to.
He took a step toward me and then stopped himself, like he just remembered he wasn’t allowed to do that anymore. Platonic friendship was uncharted territory for Ryan and me, and neither of us knew quite what it was supposed to look like. He reached out and grabbed my hand. “You know I’d do anything for you, don’t you?”
“I do.” I squeezed back.
We stood like that for a few moments like that, a strange current between us made up of one part shared history and one part pure chemistry. Thankfully, before either of us moved a muscle, Coltrane let out an impatient bark.
Ryan laughed. “Okay, guess the boss says it’s time to go.”
“Thanks again, Ryan,” I said, and waved goodbye as they pulled out of the driveway.
The mayor’s shop, Inviting Praise, was just two doors down from Rosalee’s Tavern, and since I still had about a half an hour until my meeting with the mayor, I ducked into Rosalee’s for a quick bite. The café was crowded, as it always was in the mornings, but I spied a small table over by the window.
“Bonjour, Mademoiselle,” Rosalee greeted me as I stepped inside. Rosalee was French, and her accent made everything she said sound sophisticated and sexy.
Tuttle isn’t known for being overly accepting of newcomers, but for some reason when Rosalee moved down here from DC and opened her now-eponymous restaurant, the town immediately adopted her as its token exotic foreigner. Everyone ate at Rosalee’s, and I suspected it was as much for the café’s charming owner as the food. “Bon app,” she trilled as she escorted me to my table and dropped a menu into my hands.
I looked over the menu even though I always got the same thing for breakfast. My eyes were skimming the des patisseries section when a nearby voice said, “Let me guess—an almond croissant?”
It was Jay. My stomach flipped over and I felt an immediate flush to my face. “Hi,” I managed to say without throwing up. Which was quite an accomplishment given how freaked out I was.
“I hoped you’d be here,” he said. “Can I sit?”
I nodded and he slid into the chair across from me. I hadn’t entirely decided what I was going to say to him about the status of our relationship. I was pretty sure I wasn’t interested in a relationship in which we both could date other people—but I was also pretty sure I didn’t want to give him an ultimatum.
“Listen, Jay—” I started to say.
“Wait, can I just say something first?” He scooted forward in his chair and lowered his voice. “I’m sorry, Riley. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have second-guessed you. That was out of line and I apologize. I haven’t been myself lately . . .”
“Thank you,” I said, “But—”
“Can you forgive me?” His dark eyes were full of hope. He had no idea that what I was upset about was much bigger than our tiff the night before.
I wasn’t ready to have this conversation, but I knew that now was the time whether I was ready or not. “I came by your apartment last night”—I paused for a millisecond, and in that instant Jay must have put the pieces together because at first he looked surprised, then guilty as I finished the thought—“and a woman answered the door. She thought I was the pizza delivery guy.”
He didn’t deny it, and what was left of my hope crumbled into dust. I think up until that moment, I thought that maybe I’d been wrong, that it hadn’t been what it looked like. But his face was dripping with pity and I knew there had been no misunderstanding.
“It’s fine,” I said, sitting up straighter. “I mean, whatever. I was just, um, surprised that’s all.”
“Riley . . .”
“It’s fine. I mean, it’s fine for some people . . . but as much as I’d like to pretend that I’m laid back enough to have an open relationship, I’m just not, Jay. I know that’s kind of ‘in’ right now, what with the new stuff on Netflix and that three-way couple
