Chapter Fourteen
Lake
“Hey,” Baxter shouted from the living room. “Are you one of those weird people who like pineapple on pizza?”
I grimaced and checked my watch for the third time. “Erm…”
Baxter appeared in the doorway. He’d made himself at home and was barefoot.
He showed no signs of the strain that had dogged him earlier in the day, which was good.
No, better than good. It was great. He grinned at me.
“It’s not that tricky a question.” He crossed his arms over his chest and lifted his chin.
“Would asking you about the history of pineapple on pizza be better?”
“How would I know something like that?”
Baxter studied me, eyes narrowing. Then he laughed. “You do, don’t you?” Reluctant heat crept into my cheeks. He raised one eyebrow. “Go on.”
“Well, it wasn’t created in Italy. Nor in Hawaii, like many people think.” Baxter lowered himself to the floor and sat cross-legged, his back propped against the doorjamb. I frowned. “What are you doing?”
“Sitting comfortably for my story.”
“Get up.” I hooked a hand beneath his elbow and tried to pull him upright, but he batted my hand away.
“Story first.”
“A Greek man created it in Canada.”
“Did this Greek man have a name?”
“Sam Panopolous. He had his own restaurant, where he and his brother used to experiment. The name came from the tins of pineapple they used.”
“What year was it created?”
I desperately wanted to claim that I didn’t know. Baxter didn’t really care; this was just about him proving he was right. “1962,” I mumbled.
He tipped his head back and smiled beatifically up at me.
My cock chose that moment to register that he was a) hot, which I’d already known, b) at crotch level, and c) close enough that he’d only need to lean forward for his lips to brush my groin.
I saw the moment Baxter plucked the thought straight out of my head.
“Oh,” he said, “I—”
“Don’t,” I said, holding up a hand. “Just… don’t.”
He climbed to his feet, nodding. “So… pizza? I was thinking about getting a delivery from that place on Tottenham Court Road. The one that won an award a few months back. Pineapple optional.”
I made the mistake of checking my watch again, Baxter immediately homing in on the gesture. “Am I keeping you from something?”
Lie or tell the truth? Except he’d know if I was lying.
He probably already knew I was thinking about doing it.
“Erm… I said I’d meet Glenn. We were going to see if we could do better than last time.
Which, given that requires nothing more than me staying put and not chasing after someone else mid-meal, shouldn’t be too difficult. ”
“Right. Of course.” Baxter was already backing away, something in his eyes looking suspiciously like hurt. I only had a second to register it before he spun on his heel and disappeared into the living room.
I swore under my breath and followed him, finding him on the sofa, socks already on, and working on his shoes. “I can call him and reschedule,” I suggested. “I’m sure he won’t mind. I’ll tell him something came up.”
Baxter glanced up at me from beneath his fringe. “You ran away from him on the first date. You cancel the second one. Is he really that understanding?”
I shrugged. I didn’t know Glenn well enough to say either way.
All I knew was that it felt like I was deserting Baxter on what had to be the second-worst day of his life, the day of his murder presumably ranking first. In my defense, when we’d agreed to dredge up the past, I hadn’t known we’d spend most of the day in the place it had happened.
And I’d organized the date with Glenn before that.
“If he is, you should probably marry him,” Baxter said.
“We’ve been on one date. I think it’s a bit soon to be talking about marriage.”
Baxter laughed as he stood, shoes now fastened. “Yeah, you’re right. I’ve spent way too much time around necromancers and their damn fated mates.”
“Fated mate?” I followed him as he grabbed his jacket.
“They have one true love. They just have to find them.”
“That sounds nice and convenient. I’m jealous.”
“Not necessarily.” Baxter pulled on his jacket. “Remind me to tell you how John and Bellamy met sometime. And Ben and Griffin didn’t exactly have the easiest time of it either.”
He’d mentioned John before, but the other three names were new. Baxter headed for the door, and I trailed after him. “What are you going to do?”
He opened it and leaned against the jamb, thinking for a moment before a wicked grin settled on his face. “I’m going to have some fun.”
I didn’t need him to elaborate. Something leaden settled in my gut, as heavy as a cannonball. “Do you think that’s a good idea after the day you’ve had?”
“I think it’s an excellent idea. Best one I’ve had all day.” He checked his watch. “What time’s your date?”
“Eight.”
“You'd better get a move on then. You’ve got just over an hour. I assume you’re not going like that?”
I looked down at my jumper and jeans. It was one of my favorite jumpers. It was also worn enough to sport a hole in the right sleeve. That hole had probably kept it out of Carl’s grasp. “No. Of course not. I need to shower and shave. And change.”
“Better hurry then.”
“Yeah.” Baxter turned to go, but I said his name before he could leave. “Are you okay?”
“I’m…” He caught himself. “I’m not fine. I need to get used to admitting that rather than denying it. But I’m not in pieces.”
“Do you think you’ll have the same nightmare tonight?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Healing’s not that simple, is it?”
“Probably not,” I admitted.
Baxter left after that, leaving me staring at my watch and unleashing a string of unsavory words. What the hell had I been thinking to leave things so late?
I did well to be only ten minutes late. I’d had to do a quick ironing job on my shirt, but my jacket hid most of the creases.
I just had to remember not to take it off.
We were having dinner again, but at a different restaurant.
Either Glenn didn’t notice my tardiness, or he chose not to comment on it.
My money was on the latter. He’d chosen a table well away from any windows, presumably on purpose.
He was just as charming as the first time, conversation flowing easily as he told me about taking his niece and nephew to an aquarium. “What about you?” he asked. “What did you do today?”
“What did I do?” My brain seized up, nothing but the truth presenting itself, and I doubted Glenn was ready for that. I didn’t know when murder became a suitable dinnertime topic, but I was fairly sure it wasn’t the second date. Even if he was an undertaker. “I… er…”
Glenn’s eyes were warm as they met mine over the rim of his wineglass. Warm, but not blue. Not dark-lashed. And they didn’t broadcast emotion—whether that was sorrow or humor—the same way Baxter’s did. “Verity said you’re deep into your next book. How’s it going?”
“My book, yeah. It’s… slow sometimes.”
“I bet. I don’t know how you do it. I read a great history book recently. It was about the War of the Roses, about how…”
Had Baxter found his “fun” yet? I doubted it took him long—something I attributed to his looks rather than his ability to read minds.
Although I didn’t doubt that the mind reading helped.
How easy it must be to know whether you were wasting your time within minutes. Much better than relying on a gaydar.
What if he met someone who treated him badly?
Especially today, when he was vulnerable.
What if there were minds he couldn’t read?
Or people who were exceptionally good at hiding their thoughts?
I should have asked him more about how it worked instead of avoiding the subject because it made me uncomfortable.
It was part of Baxter. And if I intended to be friends with him…
Friends, an inner voice mocked. Yeah, right? Because that’s what you want from him.
The scrape of Glenn’s chair jerked me back to the present. “Toilet,” he said, nodding toward the back of the restaurant. “Try not to run off while I’m gone.” The twinkle in his eye told me he was joking, so I laughed. It faded when he was only two steps from the table.
I waited for the door to close before getting my phone out. It was terrible form to message one man while on a date with another, and Baxter was probably too busy to answer, but I typed a message, anyway.
Just wanted to check you’re okay?
The cursor blinked almost immediately.
I’m practicing not saying I’m fine. So… tired, emotionally drained, feeling like I made a bit of a fool of myself today.
I snorted so loudly, an elderly woman at the next table shot me a look. I ignored her.
Don’t be silly. Of course you didn’t. Anyone would be a wreck in those circumstances. You handled it better than I would have.
That’s sweet of you to say.
I glanced toward the restroom door. Still closed. I told myself not to ask. Then did it anyway. Did you find your fun?
The cursor blinked. Paused. And then blinked again. The pause was long enough that I knew he’d been debating a lie.
I went home. Did some cleaning. The place was a mess. So, no, not fun. But it feels apt to declutter my flat at the same time as my brain. How’s your date? It can’t be over already.
Relief slammed into me, ill-judged and entirely inappropriate, but no less real for it.
“Everything alright?” Glenn asked as he sat back down.
I slid my phone back into my pocket without replying and resolved to give Glenn my full attention. My phone vibrated a couple of times, but I exercised enormous powers of restraint by ignoring it.
We talked about books and films, discovering shared tastes. Glenn was a skilled conversationalist with an entire arsenal of amusing anecdotes at his disposal that he knew exactly how to deploy to best effect.
But he wasn’t Baxter.
Which should have been a good thing, I told myself.
Glenn didn’t come with baggage. He couldn’t read my mind.
He hadn’t died and come back to life. At least, it was safe to assume he hadn’t.
It was funny how quickly I’d grown to accept both of those facts about Baxter.
I almost couldn’t imagine him without it. They were part and parcel of him.
The evening wound down naturally, pleasant companionship carrying us out onto the pavement where we lingered, talking.
I couldn’t blame Glenn for leaning in. It was the obvious next step. I also couldn’t blame him for looking disappointed when I instinctively stepped back.
“It’s not… I can’t… Shit.”
Glenn’s cheeks flushed. “I’m sorry. I read the signals wrong.”
“You didn’t. Don’t apologize. It’s just…”
“Just what?”
He deserved an explanation. But how did you explain something so bizarre it sounded made up? It would sound like there was something going on between me and Baxter, which there wasn’t. Right?
Something must have shown on my face, Glenn nodding as he stepped back. “There’s someone else.”
“Yes. No. Sort of. It’s complicated. He’s got… stuff going on.” Understatement of the day.
“Is he nice?” Glenn laughed at my expression. “That should be a simple question.”
“There’s nothing simple about Baxter.”
“Baxter.” Glenn said the name like he was tasting it on his tongue, and had found it to be sour. “Good to put a name to the other man.”
“’Other man’ is a bit dramatic. This is only our second date.”
Glenn nodded. “I bet he’s younger and hotter.”
“I told you. Complicated.”
His laugh lacked humor. “Which isn’t a no.”
A few awkward seconds passed. Guilt had me breaking the silence. “At least I told you. I could’ve just kissed you.”
His lips twitched. “I’m not sure I’d have complained.”
I took a step back. “I hope we can still be friends.” It sounded so clichéd that I hurried to add more. “I’ll probably look back on this day and regret it, if that helps.”
Glenn tilted his head, studying me. “I hope you don’t. I hope you and… Baxter manage to uncomplicate things.”
“So do I.”