Chapter 10 #2
“Crime drama? There’s a Nordic noir series that’s supposed to be excellent. Want to try it?”
I shrug. “Why not. I could use some murder with my noodles.”
Leo puts on a Scandinavian thing with a brooding detective and a body in the first five minutes. Perfect.
I give the first episode’s killer seven minutes.
“It’s the son-in-law,” I say through a mouthful of noodles.
Leo raises his eyebrows. “Based on?”
“He said he hadn’t been to the house in months.
But when the detective opened the fridge, there was a brand of hot sauce in there that they showed in the son-in-law’s apartment in the establishing shot.
Same brand. Same weird imported label.” I point my fork at the screen.
“Someone’s been visiting more recently than they claim. ”
“That could be a coincidence. People buy the same hot sauce.”
“Not this one. Look at it. It’s got a Lithuanian label. That’s not a coincidence. That’s sloppy lying.”
The son-in-law is arrested forty-three minutes later. The hot sauce is mentioned. I try not to look smug, but I fail.
Leo shakes his head, but I spot a ghost of a smile.
“The landscaper,” I say, eleven minutes into episode two.
“How can you possibly know that already?”
“He’s got a tan line from his watch on his left wrist, but he’s wearing his watch on his right.
He switched it recently.” I set my plate on the coffee table and lean forward.
“Why would you switch which wrist you wear your watch on unless you injured the dominant hand doing something you shouldn’t have? Like, say, strangling someone.”
Leo stares at me. “You got all that from tan lines.”
“I got all that from paying attention.”
The landscaper confesses at the forty-minute mark. I don’t gloat. Much.
“I thought you said you don’t watch much TV?” Leo says.
“I don’t.”
Leo turns to look at me, head tilted slightly. There’s something in his expression I don’t like. Curiosity. The kind that comes with follow-up questions. “Do you read lots of crime drama then?”
“Ah, not particularly.”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I’ve been sloppy.
I’ve been so busy enjoying the evening, and I have to admit, showing off slightly to Leo, that I let my guard slip.
Have I been too much? The question surfaces like an old reflex, the mental equivalent of touching a bruise to check if it still hurts.
It always still hurts.
I know what happens when I stop editing myself around people. The pattern is well-documented, verified across multiple data points.
I’ve had boyfriends who found it charming for a while. The observations, the deductions, the way I can’t seem to stop pulling at threads. Then, charming tipped into something else. Tiring, usually. Or intimidating. Or just…a lot.
“You’re exhausting, Archie.” The words don’t belong to any of those exes. They belong to someone who knew me better than all of them combined.
But I’m fairly sure Leo has been looking at me with admiration, not exasperation, as I explained my theories.
However, now he’s looking at me, waiting for an explanation I’m not going to give.
I need to redirect this. Fast.
“Actually, while I’m thinking of it,” I say. “Would you be able to pop over to my apartment and grab some things for me?”
“Sure. I can go tomorrow morning before dog walking. What do you need?”
“There’s a drawer in my nightstand. Second from the top. If you could just grab some items in there.”
Leo goes very still. His face does something fascinating. A flicker of… Is that embarrassment?
Oh.
Oh, this is delightful.
It appears Leo already knows the delights my second drawer contains.
“The second drawer,” he repeats, very carefully.
“Mm-hmm.”
“The one with the…?” He stops and regroups. “I can do that. Tomorrow.”
But I’m not going to let him off that easily.
“Actually, I need them tonight.”
“Tonight?”
“They’re personal items. Essential to my evening routine.”
The flush starts at his neck. “Your evening routine.”
“Yes.”
His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. “Right.”
“Is something wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“You’ve gone a bit pink.”
“I haven’t.”
“You have. It’s quite charming, actually.” I let the pause stretch. “Leo, have you already opened that drawer?”
The pink deepens to crimson. “I may have opened it briefly when I was packing your bag that first night. I closed it immediately.”
“Immediately? So you didn’t take a proper inventory?”
He looks pained. “I’m not having this conversation.”
“Because if you had, I could just tell you specifically which items I need, and you won’t have to rummage.”
“I said I closed it immediately.”
“The purple one, for instance. Battery-operated. Very important for my recovery. And there’s a bottle of something in the back corner that really helps the whole experience. Very nice.”
“Can’t this wait until…”
I give him an imploring look. “It really can’t. I have needs, Leo. And having a broken ankle is going to stop me from satisfying those needs in other ways, so I need the right equipment.”
He looks like a man who’s just stepped on a landmine and is trying to figure out how to lift his foot without triggering the explosion.
“Fine,” he says tightly. “I’ll go now.”
“Wonderful. Make sure you grab the purple one. That’s nonnegotiable.”
“The purple one.”
“You’ll know it when you see it. It’s quite substantial. It’s called the Destroyer. Just so you know what you’re looking for.”
Leo’s jaw works. “Anything else?”
“The silver one as well. Actually, just bring the whole drawer’s contents. I like to have options.”
“Options,” he repeats faintly.
“Well, obviously I won’t know what I’m in the mood for until I’m in the moment, you know?”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he just grabs his jacket and heads for the door with the focused determination of a man who wants this errand over with as quickly as possible.
The door closes behind him with a decisive click.
I grin at the empty room.
That’s more like it. Me in control. Him thoroughly flustered.
Nice, clear boundaries between us.