Chapter 18 #2
I had the worst poker face. Mom had warned me never to gamble, since my expression could be read from a mile away. If I went to work, even the cataract-riddled cafeteria worker would see me drooling over Val. Who was another employee.
A higher-ranked employee.
I cursed.
I wasn’t sure of the protocol for museum staff getting involved with each other. To be fair, I would have never—in a million years—dreamed I’d get involved with Val Russo. All it took was that forged painting to push us past our stubbornness.
In fact, we should be focusing on the case, since an art thief was still at large, the stolen painting still lost, and a museum’s fate depending on us, but I still couldn’t tear my thoughts from my sexy co-detective.
My heart fluttered dramatically at the prospect of seeing him again.
Sighing, I called Blythe and gave my best performance of a woman with a severe head cold. There was just no possibility of seeing Val without engaging him in tackle football with lips and tongues.
Blythe wished me well and hung up.
There. I now had today and tomorrow to pull up my big girl panties and get a grip. The adrenaline coursing through my veins made me realize that sitting at home for the next few days was not an option.
Not wanting to be caught faking sick, I packed a weekend bag to go visit my mom. After a quick shower, I rummaged in my closet for something to wear.
Val’s navy jacket was still where I had left it, puddled on the floor. I picked it up, running my hands over the now-dry fabric. Smiling, I zipped the essence of Val’s intoxicating cologne over my tank top.
It was longer than my shorts, I felt like a child in it, and it was summertime, but I didn’t care.
I was wearing it.
Parked in the driveway of my suburban home, I shut off the engine and picked up my phone. After a few seconds, I found the dusty contact I previously would have only ever texted at gunpoint. I chuckled at the name I’d assigned Val months ago: Val Grumpelstiltskin.
AMANTHA: I swear I’m not avoiding you. I’m taking a few days off so I don’t kiss you at work. If anyone asks, I told Blythe I’ve got a cold. Call me later?
I didn’t expect a text back right away, since Val’s phone usually stayed glued to the magnetic charger on his desk. But I knew he’d eventually see it, and he’d call.
Unless he had regrets about last night…
I chewed my lip. He wouldn’t have written me that note if he didn’t care. Right?
Mom appeared by my car door with a smile, so I stepped out and gave her a hug.
“Sweetie! It’s so nice to have you home! Why are you wearing a jacket in this heat?” She fanned herself as she scanned the cloudless sky, then stepped closer and poked her nose in the air beside me. “And are you wearing cologne?”
I laughed. “Nice to see you too, Mom.”
Mom stepped into my path and held up her hands. “Don’t be mad.”
I appraised her with a confused look.
“Well… I was lonely, and he was cute, and—”
“Mom! Is there a strange man in my house?!”
Mom guffawed at that. “Amantha Adams! You are too much sometimes.” She opened the door, returning with a scowling white cat. “Meet Mr. Fluff Buttons.”
My jaw dropped. “You got a cat and didn’t tell me?”
Mom shrugged and stroked his white fur. “I always wanted one, but I knew Ryan was deathly allergic…” Her blue eyes turned stormy. “Come to think of it, I should have bought one a long time ago.”
“Mom. We’ve been over this. You can’t use cats as weapons.”
“Try me.” She picked up my bag with her free hand and winked. “Come on, now. Tell me all about him.”
“Who?” I flushed.
Mom rolled her eyes, gesturing to Val’s jacket. “Him.”
I tried to fight my smile. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I headed straight to my bedroom. Mr. Fluff Buttons had the audacity to dart past and curl up on my plush bedspread. I dumped the contents of my bag as Mom bustled in behind me.
“Don’t even try to hide it, honey. I haven’t seen pink on your cheeks like that since the seventh grade.” Mom plopped into the rocking chair I used for Anthony’s night feedings a decade ago. “Might as well tell me.”
I bit my lip, trying to keep from smiling like a maniac. “It’s Val.”
Mom immediately choked, either from air or saliva, or maybe both.
Waving me off, she sputtered, “Val? As in Russo?”
"Yes, Mom. As in Russo.”
“But I thought you hated him!” Mom could have caught flies in her gaping mouth.
“I did. But it turns out the man I hated never existed. The whole jerk act was only covering up a big ‘ol softie.”
“I guess this is a moment where I’ll need to have faith in your judgment, sweetie.” Mom spun her wedding ring in circles. “Does he happen to be allergic to cats?”
I laughed. “I don’t think so. And you’ve gotta stop with the cat weaponizing.”
“Fine, I trust you.” She sighed, then asked, “Is Val okay with the whole situation? Ryan and Anthony, I mean?”
Heat radiated from my chest. “Yes.”
“Oh honey! That’s wonderful.” Mom nestled further into the chair, folding her hands across her soft stomach as I unpacked. “Okay, go on. Tell me all about him.”
Later that evening, I lay on the couch, navigating my TV subscription menu.
I had quickly learned that Mr. Fluff Buttons was a never-ending parade of audacity, demanding the space by my feet.
Mom had gone to bed early, even though it was only about eight PM.
Seconds ticked by as I searched for something to watch before my bowl of ice cream melted.
No one likes cold soup.
I found my favorite sitcom, Whisper Harbor. Pressing play, I nestled farther underneath Val’s jacket. Ice cream puddled on my tongue as I watched the hilarious town spread gossip about each other. A few moments later, my phone vibrated.
VAL GRUMPELSTILTSKIN: I see you’re avoiding me.
AMANTHA: I’m not avoiding you! Didn’t you get my text earlier?
VAL GRUMPELSTILTSKIN: Relax, I’m messing with you.
Mr. Fluff Buttons startled off the couch as I tucked my knees to my chest with a small laugh. An ellipsis appeared again. I couldn’t take Val seriously with that ridiculous contact name, so I edited it and waited for him to finish typing.
VAL: I missed you today.
My heart skipped a beat.
AMANTHA: I missed you too.
The phone lit up, my quiet ringtone indicating a call from Val was coming through.
“Hello?”
Val’s voice sounded rumbly and soft. “So, if I understood your text, you are not sick—you’re just too obsessed with me to keep your cool in public?”
I decided to answer a question with a question. “So, if I understood the message from your note, you loved our time together and think I sleep like a perfectly quiet angel?”
“Yeah, if angels helped guide ships through dense fog.”
“Shut up, Russo.” My cheeks began to ache from smiling so wide.
“How long do you think you’ll be obsessed with me, err, I mean, sick for?”
“Why do you ask?”
A pause. “Because I’d like to see you again soon. Very soon.”
My breath caught, the line falling silent.
“Sorry,” I said. “I guess I’m still getting used to you saying things like that to me.”
“Well, get used to it, I suppose.”
It sounded like he was smiling.
“I’m going to be sick again tomorrow, but the jury’s still out for how long I’ll be obsessed with you.” I leaned back, fiddling with the drawstrings on Val’s jacket.
Mr. Fluff Buttons forgave me for startling him, jumping back up onto the couch and settling across the blanket on my lap. I mindlessly stroked his soft fur.
“Fine then. Would it sway the jury if I asked you on a proper date?”
“I guess you’ll find out when you ask me, then,” I said.
“Why do you insist on being so difficult, Adams?”
“Why do you like it?”
“I guess I’m a glutton for punishment.” Val chuckled and sighed. “My dearest Amantha Adams. Would you do me the honor of letting me take you on a proper date?”
“Oh my gosh! This is so unexpected! I can’t believe—”
“Just shut up and say yes already.”
“Yes.” A giddy laugh burst out at his annoyance.
“I’ll pick you up tomorrow at seven?”
“Actually, I’m not in the city. I’m staying at my house in the suburbs for a few days. I haven’t seen my mom in a while, and she lives here too.”
“So you needed to leave the entire city in order to control your feelings for me?” he teased.
“Something like that.” The call went quiet again. “Val?”
“Sorry.” He cleared his throat. “I’m still getting used to hearing you say things like that to me.”
“Well get used to it, I suppose.” Mr. Fluff Buttons shifted in my lap, and I scratched him behind the ears.
“Amantha?”
“Yes?”
“Are you… I mean, does this feel…” He let out a frustrated sigh. “I’m sorry, I’m bad at this. Does all this feel—”
“Scary? Terrifying?” I let out a breathy laugh.
“Yeah.” His low chuckle reverberated in my ear. “I mean, with our histories. I know you said in my office you haven’t dated since your divorce. I want to make sure I’m not rushing you into something you’re not ready for.”
His concern and understanding of my past only drew me closer. Even with his own scars, Val was checking on mine?
“I don’t feel rushed at all,” I said. “I mean, I do keep waiting for something to really scare me. Like, in my mind, I feel like I should be running for the hills. But, I’m not.”
“You’re not?”
“I’m not. It’s a good thing too. I’m in terrible shape.”
His throaty laugh sounded like velvet. “I’m glad you’re not running then. And I’m going to try hard to not overthink things, which you should probably know is a very difficult thing for me to do.”
“That seems like a good plan.”
“Speaking of plans, if I can’t take you on a date tomorrow, would it be okay if I drove out to see you instead?”
I sat up straighter, despite Mr. Fluff Button’s irritation. “Val Russo! Are you ditching work too?”
“Yes, I think I will. You’re a terrible influence on me,” he said. “I’ll use some paid time off. They don’t need to know why.”
“That sounds perfect.”
A butterfly-filled silence stretched across the phone line before Val said, “It sounds like you’re watching TV over there?”
“Yes—Whisper Harbor. If you say you hate it, we’re breaking up right now.”
“Wait,” Val teased, “I don’t remember agreeing to be in a relationship with you.”
Crap.
We hadn’t even put a label on whatever this was, and it was much too early to be talking about commitment. I squeezed my eyes shut.
“Lucky for you, I’m very interested in being in this relationship.”
I forgot how to breathe.
“So I definitely don’t want to get dumped over a TV show. Tell me what episode you’re on and we’ll watch it together.”
My hands fumbled for the remote. “Season two, episode fourteen.” I put my phone on speaker mode so I could wrap up in his jacket tighter. We spent the rest of the evening watching my favorite comfort show, miles away from each other.
I didn’t even care that my ice cream had, indeed, turned into cold soup.