Chapter 22
Even with my headphones in and my mortuary playlist in full swing, I can still hear the rain pelting the windows of Coffee Crest.
For the first time since we really started whatever this is, I’m not dressed up. Amir texted to tell me I didn’t need to, though I still feel underdressed in my oversized hoodie and shorts while I sit only a short distance from the steps to my apartment.
There’s something comforting about being on my territory. Especially as my fingers curl around the iced coffee in my hand and I gaze up at the television running reruns of Golden Girls.
Justin moves behind the counter to my left, cleaning up after the evening rush that got him frazzled. Even though I offered to help, he turned me down, saying that I deserve to have a nice, quiet night. Well, as quiet as possible with the storm raging outside.
There’s definitely something a little romantic about thunder providing an unexpected bass line to Elley Duhé’s “Middle of the Night,” and I close my eyes as I take a long drink of my iced coffee.
Hestia makes it better, but I would never tell Justin that.
It would feel like kicking a puppy, and I don’t have it in me to hurt his feelings.
When a hand touches my shoulder, I jump. Immediately embarrassed by the reaction when I know who it is. I look up, my fingers tugging my headphones down to rest around my neck, surprised to see Amir looking so…soft.
His jeans sit a little loose on his hips, and his tan boots are scuffed from actual use instead of pristine like nearly everything else I’ve ever seen him wear. Even the coat hanging off his shoulders looks a little too big for him, softening the sharp lines of the T-shirt stretched over his frame.
There’s nothing polished about him right now. Nothing carefully arranged.
He looks comfortable.
Maybe that’s what throws me most.
His hair is still damp from the rain, falling fluffy and disobedient around his face instead of swept up or settled perfectly into place like I’m used to. The whole thing makes him look younger somehow. Softer. Like I’ve caught him in a version of himself he rarely lets anyone see.
Amir tilts his head, studying me as I do the same to him. “Am I not up to your expectations, Nell?” he murmurs, though there’s absolutely no hint of insecurity in his voice.
“No—I mean—” I take a breath and frown. “You just look different tonight. It’s not a bad thing. Like, at all.” It’s the worst compliment I’ve probably ever spit out in my life, but Amir still rewards me with a smile before taking a seat across from me with a steaming cup in one hand.
“You’ve eaten tonight, yes?” he asks, glancing down at my coffee.
I lift a brow at him and suck on the straw, wanting to throw out a very bratty, you aren’t my dad. But I refrain, only giving him a nod. “Yeah. Couple hours ago. You said we weren’t going to dinner. Should I not have?”
Amir is already shaking his head. “I was merely making sure.” He settles more comfortably into his chair and glances up at Justin.
“Now, you said you wanted to pick our game tonight. Have you…” he trails off, a smile widening over his lips as I place an old deck of cards between us.
“Oh, how quaint. Even though you told me you know all the ‘old people’ card games, I didn’t actually expect this.
” He reaches out and gently slides the cards free, his fingers working to shuffle them together with a precision I’ve never accomplished.
I watch his fingers move, watch them bend the cards without creasing them. He shuffles them absently, like an old hobby, never needing to take his attention off me. “Rummy?” he asks, repeating the game I mentioned the other night.
“Yeah,” I agree. I’m good at this game. If there’s anything I’m going to win, it’s going to be this one. “Regular Rummy, though I don’t know how to play Indian or Gin.”
“Oh?” He shuffles the cards together one more time before dealing them with flicks of his wrist. One to me, one to him, then so on until we both have ten. “I’m surprised. I would’ve expected you to be a Gin Rummy expert.”
“Played it a couple times. But not that much. I don’t know, it just never clicked the way normal Rummy did.
” I pick up my cards, sorting them, putting a couple of matches together before glancing at the card Amir has placed face up beside the rest of the deck.
For his part, Amir sets three cards down in a run, then looks at me expectantly.
“Thank you so much,” I murmur, able to get rid of one of my cards to combo with him. But after that, I pull a useless card from the deck to start my turn…and place it right down on the discard pile.
Thunder rumbles outside again, and I glance up at the window in time to see a flicker of lightning.
“Are you afraid of storms?” Amir asks curiously. He also places a card into the discard instead of putting anything else down. But this one I can use.
“Not at all.” I pick it up, using it to place a trio of threes down on the table.
With his run and my meld, all of the threes are no longer in play.
Thankfully, nothing else in my hand requires them.
Not that my hand is overall that great. “What about the dogs? Aren’t Shepherds pretty sensitive to them? ”
Amir nods his head as he picks up a card from the deck, and then places down another trio of cards, this time jacks. “They’re terrified. But nothing a little Benadryl-filled treat can’t fix. And it’s their night with Auntie Hestia.”
Then that explains where she is. The storm gradually fades as we take our turns, our conversation flowing surprisingly easily, compared to the tense silence I played out in my head when I considered how this would go.
But at the end of the game, I know I’ve lost. Amir smiles and says in a very sweet voice, “That’s all,” then discards his very last card on the table.
Leaving me holding two kings. When I place them down with a sigh, he gives me a look of almost authentic sympathy. “Shall I tally for us?” I nod, and Amir does so, laying his phone on the table between us with the notes app open to show our scores.
Twenty-seven to thirty-six; not in my favor. But it’s close enough that I tap my fingers on the table, worrying my lower lip in thought. “Best two out of three? Not like it takes long…”
Amir fixes me with a look before gathering up all the cards again.
“If I didn’t know better, I might think you’re a sore loser,” he murmurs.
“Or that you’re trying to get out of what will be a very nice reward for me winning.
I did tell you that, right. Your game means I don’t hold back if you lose. ”
My stomach twists as my heart tries to beat right out of my throat.
“But you know better,” I retort with more confidence than I feel.
“And you know I just want to play another couple of rounds. I haven’t gotten to do this since…
” I trail off, thinking. “Well, Cecil played with me one night while we were waiting on a body. But he’s, uh, how do I say this politely—”
“Absolutely awful at any card game,” Amir finishes for me. “I am well acquainted.” He offers me another smile and deals again until we are once more each holding ten cards.
This time, my hand is significantly better, and this round is quicker than the last. It ends in my favor so aggressively that I’ve pulled ahead of him even with my loss last round.
“Careful,” Amir warns as he deals one last time. “I wouldn’t want you to get overconfident, my darling.” The affectionate pet name has something hot twisting in my stomach that has nothing to do with anxiety. “This isn’t a runaway for you just yet.”
“And I need more coffee for this,” I declare, not yet looking at the cards I’ve been dealt. I get to my feet and pick up the plastic cup, reaching out for his empty one as well. “Do you want another one?”
He pauses in his sorting of cards, his eyes going to his empty cup in my hand to my face. “No, thank you. But I appreciate you.”
“Don’t appreciate me too much. You’re paying.” It’s definitely a little reckless to be so bold, and my tiny smile doesn’t go unrewarded. He chuckles and offers me one of his own.
“Which I do gladly.”
It only takes a couple of minutes to get another large iced latte, and when I’m seated again with my cards in hand, I can feel Amir eyeing me with something bordering on concern. “Yes?” I ask without looking up.
“I’m simply wondering about your daily caffeine intake.”
I glance up at him, suddenly a bit unsure. “If you want me to start paying for my own—”
“That’s not what I said.” There’s a hint of reproach in his words, and I suddenly feel as if I’m being chastised. “I said I was wondering how much coffee you drink. In case you didn’t know this, you should drink things that don’t have caffeine in them once in a while.”
“Ah, no. I think I’m past that,” I sigh, a little theatrical. “My blood runs black with espresso now. I have to keep drinking it or I’ll die. I’m like a coffee vampire.”
When I look up at him, he’s not smiling. He’s giving me a deadpan look, like he’s confused at how I’m still alive.
Frankly, so am I. But not because of a caffeine overdose.
“Charming,” Amir finally mutters. “Shall we play, then?”
The game starts off pretty similarly to the last hand.
I’m able to discard three cards immediately in a run, and when I pick up a card from the deck, I put it down with those.
Amir does the same on his turn, though he’s only able to get rid of two cards by playing off of the run I put down.
This game is even quicker than the last two, and I’m left with two cards to his four pretty early on.
We trade turns, neither of us able to do anything, until finally I draw a card that I wanted four turns back.
Crap.
I could win this, I think. There are four cards between what I need now and the top of the discard pile. But if I can get it, I can make the world’s best run. Otherwise, I’ll be stuck with it, and a glance at the table shows me he is, very slightly, in the lead.
I make the choice and on my next turn, I pick up all five cards to get what I want.
“Okay,” I sigh, placing down everything I can, thanks to the card I got.
The run in front of me is longer than anything he’s played, and I sit back in my seat, holding two face cards, a ten, and a nine.
I want to keep the kings. I’m so close to a third one, and if I could just get it—or if he puts it down—then there’s no way I lose this. So I discard the nine.
Amir studies the cards in front of me for a moment, glancing between them and what he has. “That was very good,” he admits before he plucks cards out of his hand. He picks up the nine I just discarded and puts three down, then puts another card down to work off of my run.
Leaving him with one.
“No. No, don’t you dare—”
“But I do hope you’re not holding anything of high value.”
The card he places down is a king. The fucking king that would’ve sealed my victory.
Unfortunately, now it just leers up at me as the herald of my loss.
“Want me to tally again…” he trails off when I drop my hand, showing the ten and the two kings. “Ah.”
Neither of us needs to tally to know that I have definitely lost.
“Well, better luck next time. It was a very bold play. I can’t fault you for it, especially with how that game was going.” He gathers up all the cards, straightening them into a neat stack before sliding them back into the old box that he places in front of me.
“But I think that now, it’s time to talk about what I’ve won.” There’s a note in his voice I’ve never heard before, and my stomach curls with both anticipation and dread at the thought of what he wants from me.