Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Archie
I’m waiting for Leo outside the Natural History Museum.
I’d be pacing if I could, but unfortunately, broken ankles make for shit pacing. The best I can manage is an anxious swivel on my crutches, which lacks a certain gravitas.
Leo had a business meeting this morning. Sometimes, I forget he’s actually in London to work, and not to be my personal lackey, along with my built-in entertainment.
I keep waiting for him to bail. To say “Ah, yeah, I’m not doing this anymore. Here’s some cash to hire someone else,” and then disappear into the sunset.
In some ways, it would almost be a relief if he did that. Because then I wouldn’t have to deal with this unfortunate attraction to the guy.
Which only seems to be growing every day.
What I didn’t expect from Mr. Corporate Button-Up was how attentive he’d be when we were living together.
How his competency would extend into small things, like always making sure I have food and water in easy reach, and how he quietly moved all the mugs to a lower shelf after watching me nearly topple off my crutches reaching for one.
This morning I was just coming out of the bathroom, and I’d bumped into him, all sleepy-eyed and stubble-jawed, dressed in forest-green flannelette pajamas that looked so soft and comfortable that all I wanted to do was touch him.
My heart leaps now as a taxi pulls up and Leo gets out, looking like the quintessential corporate businessman. It’s extremely hard to comprehend the fact that, in a quarter of an hour, he’s going to be wearing a very different kind of costume.
Leo approaches me, frowning. “Why are you waiting out here? It’s too cold to be outside.” He gestures at the sky, which is doing that thing where it can’t decide whether it wants to rain, sleet, or just hang out looking threatening and gray. A.k.a. a typical London day in late January.
“It’s nice to get some fresh air,” I say.
“There’s fresh, and then there’s hypothermic,” Leo says.
Is his concern for me just part of his guilt? All the caring little things he does for me, are they just penance? A man working through a checklist of atonement, one thoughtful gesture at a time?
“I’m British-adjacent now. We’re legally required to pretend the weather isn’t trying to kill us,” I reply.
A small flicker of a smile crosses Leo’s face, which I take as a victory.
We make our way inside and through the hall, my crutches echoing against the stone floor. Leo matches his pace to mine, which I try not to find endearing.
The party room is tucked away behind the main exhibition space. When we arrive, I spot my equipment cases stacked neatly by the door, exactly where the courier was supposed to leave them.
“So, I’ve decided we should go in a new direction for your costume today,” I say as I hobble over to them.
Leo eyes the cases with deep suspicion. “What kind of new direction?”
I unlock the first case and start pulling out supplies. Tablecloths with cartoon T. rexes. Plates. Napkins. Party bags. Bubble solution. Facepaint.
And then, from the second case, the costumes.
I hold up Leo’s first.
It’s not a unicorn onesie this time. It’s a full-body T. rex suit. It’s bright green, inflatable, and features tiny arms that flap uselessly.
Leo stares at it.
“No,” he says.
“It’s the most requested costume for dinosaur parties. The kids go absolutely mental for it.”
“I’ll look like a deranged balloon animal.”
“You’ll look like a crowd favorite. There’s a difference.”
“The difference is negligible.”
“The difference is delight, Leo. Nothing delights children more than a grown man waddling around in an inflatable dinosaur suit.”
Leo takes the costume from me and holds it at arm’s length, like it might bite him.
Then he sends one of those penetrating stares in my direction. “Are you finding the most humiliating outfits for me to wear on purpose?”
I press a hand to my chest. “Leo. I’m wounded. These are standard industry costumes. I didn’t design them specifically to embarrass you.”
This is technically true. I didn’t design them.
I did, however, specifically order this costume for Leo to wear today.
Leo’s eyes narrow. “What are you wearing?”
I pull out my own costume. A simple safari vest and pith helmet combo. Khaki shorts. A magnifying glass on a string.
“I’m the paleontologist,” I explain. “I’m the brains of the operation. You’re the comic relief.”
“Of course I am.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure to get lots of photos for posterity.”
He meets my gaze. “If any photos end up online, I will personally ensure your next party booking is for a group of feral toddlers hopped up on Kool-Aid.”
I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep myself from laughing.
“Bold of you to assume that’s not already my target demographic. Besides, even if photos do end up online, do you think anyone will recognize you? The costume is basically witness protection.”
Leo makes a sound that’s somewhere between a sigh and a growl. Then he turns toward the small changing area in the corner of the room.
He disappears behind the curtain with the inflatable dinosaur suit, and I allow myself a small, private smile as I start to change into my own costume.
By the time I’ve wrestled myself into the safari vest, I can hear the whir of the inflation mechanism from behind Leo’s curtain.
“How’s it going in there?” I call.
“I can’t find the armholes.”
“They’re inside the body. You have to reach through.”
A pause. More rustling. Then his voice comes out. “These arms are twelve inches long.”
“Tyrannosaurus rex had proportionally small forelimbs relative to their body size. It’s scientifically accurate.”
“I can’t scratch my own nose.”
“Also scientifically accurate. Scientists believe this may have contributed to their extinction.”
“That’s not true.”
“You don’t know that. You’re not a paleontologist.”
The curtain yanks back.
And there he is. Leo Brennan, in all his inflatable green glory.
The suit balloons out around him, giving him an enormous, rounded body that wobbles when he moves.
His actual arms are stuffed inside the costume, operating the tiny T.
rex arms that stick out pathetically from his chest. His face is visible through a mesh window in the dinosaur’s open mouth, and his expression hovers somewhere between resignation and homicide.
He looks absolutely ridiculous.
My lips press together so tightly they might fuse. I deserve an award for not laughing. A trophy. A national honor.
“Well?” Leo demands.
“You look…” I have to pause and breathe. “You look very fearsome.”
“I look like I lost a fight with a bouncy castle.”
“A fearsome bouncy castle. Very intimidating.”
Leo takes a step forward. The suit wobbles. The tiny arms flap.
I lose it.
The laugh erupts out of me before I can stop it, bending me over my crutches, making my stomach hurt. Leo’s face, framed by dinosaur teeth, shifts from annoyed to something that might almost be amused.
“Get it out of your system now,” he says. “Before the children arrive.”
“I’m sorry.” I’m not sorry at all. “I’m so sorry. It’s just…” I gesture vaguely at the entirety of him. “You were in a three-piece suit twenty minutes ago.”
“I’m aware of the contrast.”
“You had shiny shoes, Leo. Shiny shoes.”
“Do you want me to put them back on? I’ll be a dinosaur in brogues. Very fashion forward.”
This sets me off again. Leo watches me laugh, and something in his expression softens.
“You’re a menace,” he says, but there’s no heat in it.
“I prefer ‘creative professional.’ Now come on. We’ve got a party to set up, and you need to practice your roar.”
For the next half hour, we transform the party room into a prehistoric wonderland, which mostly involves me pointing at things and Leo doing the actual physical labor. I arrange the party bags while Leo wrestles with a banner that reads HAVE A DINO-MITE BIRTHDAY THOMAS!
The birthday boy’s mother, Patricia, arrives twenty minutes before the party to do a final check.
“Oh, wonderful,” she says, surveying the room. “Thomas is going to love this. He’s absolutely obsessed with dinosaurs.”
“We’ll make sure he has a roar-some time,” I say because I am contractually obligated to make that pun at least once per dinosaur party.
Patricia’s eyes slide to Leo, who is standing in the corner trying to look dignified despite being encased in green inflatable plastic.
“And this is…?”
“My assistant. Snugglesaurus.”
Leo’s head swivels toward me. He mouths “Snugglesaurus?” through the mesh window, but I ignore him.
“He’s new,” I add. “Still in training. But very enthusiastic.”
Patricia eyes Leo doubtfully but doesn’t press further. She runs through the schedule and dietary requirements with me.
“And Thomas’s father might be late,” she adds, something flickering across her face. “Or he might not come at all. It’s…complicated.”
“Understood. We’ll make sure Thomas has such a good time he won’t notice.”
She gives me a grateful smile. It’s the kind of smile that reminds me why I do this job.
The children arrive in waves. First a trickle, then a flood. Twenty-two five- and six-year-olds in their party best, vibrating with sugar anticipation and barely contained chaos.
Thomas, the birthday boy, takes one look at Leo and screams with joy.
“Dinosaur!”
He launches himself at Leo’s inflatable midsection and bounces off like he’s hit a trampoline. This delights him so much that he does it again. And again. Soon, there’s a line of children waiting to bounce off the dinosaur man.
Leo stands there and takes it, a stoic green boulder in a sea of shrieking children.
I catch his eye and give him a thumbs-up.
He gives me a look that promises retribution.
I’m not particularly worried. What’s he going to do? He’s trapped in an inflatable suit with twelve-inch arms.