Chapter Twenty
TWENTY
Callahan
I originally intended to figure out where Annie was procuring her morning meatball subs and get her one, but it’s apparently going to take a bit of investigation.
She might be making them herself, but I find it much more likely that she charmed one of the local spots into opening extra early just for her, since that’s the most Annie O’Neill thing I can imagine.
In the meantime, I went over to the coffee shop and got her the blackberry white mocha she seemed to enjoy when she brought it back to the store after her big sale the other day.
I hope it’s enough to show her how grateful I am.
Although really, is there such a thing? How do I repay her for giving me back the ability to hope?
For restoring a sense of rightness that’s been missing from my life since things ended with Nicole—no, since Graham died?
And, sure, also for the whole sucking my soul out of my body thing, but it’s really more about the emotional gift of it than the pleasure itself.
Not that the pleasure wasn’t also quite welcome, of course.
I can’t wait to do it again. And again. And again.
Sexual stuff, yes, but I also just want to spend the rest of her time here making her happy in every way I possibly can.
I want to wake up beside her every morning and trace the sunbeams on her bare shoulders with my mouth.
I want to watch her fold her origami flowers from across the room without having to look away when she catches me.
I want to help her figure out the best way to incorporate them into the display window, even if it makes it look tacky, just to see that proud look on her face when she takes it all in.
The circumstances aren’t particularly conducive to starting a new relationship.
My store’s co-owner and operations manager are out of the country for another several weeks.
I have a goose to track down and then figure out how to get rid of again in order to restore my lapsed friendship with my ex—assuming she doesn’t hold it against me that I’ve been ignoring her status update request texts.
Most significantly, Annie will go back to New Jersey in December, leaving us a three-hour drive and a small fortune in tolls apart.
But these feelings, this sensation that I’m finally moving in the right direction…I know how elusive it is, at least for me. If I don’t grab it when it’s in reach and hold on tight, I may never get the chance again.
The bells on the door jangle slightly as a key turns in the lock.
I look up from my phone to see Annie making her way inside.
It must be colder this morning, because she’s wearing hot pink earmuffs along with her usual mustard yellow peacoat and Technicolor plaid scarf.
Her cheeks are rosy from the wind, and I intend to take away their chill by cupping her face as I kiss her softly hello, but when I reach for her she takes a step backward and clears her throat.
“Good morning,” she says with false brightness as she unravels her scarf. “Feels like winter out there already.”
Okay. I’m not quite sure what’s happening. Did I do something wrong? Maybe I should have led with the coffee? “This should help a bit,” I say, handing her the paper cup once she’s hung her outerwear on the hook at the bottom of the stairs.
“Oh, thanks. That’s…really nice of you.” Annie glances at the writing on the side. “Why does it say ‘Asshat Van Shithead’?”
“Remember the barista I told you about? Mindy? Well, she’s very creative and knows how to hold a grudge.”
“Ah.” She goes to take a sip but freezes, her poppy red lips hovering over the lid. “Cal, I think we need to talk.”
“Is the blackberry not right?” I ask.
“No, it’s fine. It’s just…last night, everything happened kind of fast and we never really discussed what it meant. And I wanted to make sure we’re on the same page.”
“Of course we are,” I say.
“Yeah? Tell me, what page is that?”
“You know. The one…that we’re on.”
Her smile is cheerless as she sets the cup down on the counter. Our gazes linger on the mahogany surface for a moment. I wonder if she’s remembering…I know I am.
“I feel terrible,” she says, immediately cutting down the arousal climbing up my spine like a precocious invasive vine.
“It was irresponsible of me not to make it clearer beforehand that this”—she points between us—“it can’t be an ongoing thing.
That’s not something I’m able to do right now.
It isn’t professional, and with me leaving soon and the goose and the emotional baggage I’m still unpacking…
there’s just too much potential for things to go sideways. You understand that, right?”
My response initially feels stuck, blocked by the sudden heavy sensation behind my breastbone, as if Annie’s words have collected there in a big, solid mass putting pressure on my heart.
“Y-yeah, no, totally. Which is why I also intended it to be just the one time,” I eventually manage to lie.
I attempt to casually lean against the wall but misjudge the distance and almost fall over.
Hopefully my recovery is smoother in reality than it is in my head but given that Annie looks like she’s biting back a grin, I sort of doubt it.
“Really? Because I wouldn’t blame you at all if you assumed otherwise.” I follow her gaze to the mocha, which she’s clearly read as the offering of affection I intended it to be.
“Oh, no, that’s just…that’s nothing. A courtesy service. I do it for all of my casual hookups.”
Her eyebrows raise. “You don’t have any other casual hookups.”
“Well, it’s what I would do for them if I did. You’re the first of many to come, I’m sure.”
“Anyone would be so lucky.” Annie steps forward and brushes a piece of hair away from my face. “It was wonderful, Cal. Being with you. It absolutely isn’t anything personal.”
“Yeah, I get it. It’s fine. Seriously. I had fun, you had fun, fun was had by all. And now we can go back to not having fun. As I assumed was the original plan all along.” This is the least persuasive anyone has ever been, but Annie takes pity and doesn’t call me out on it.
“Thank you for understanding,” she says instead, and stands on her tiptoes to plant a tiny, painfully platonic kiss on my cheek before taking her drink and sashaying away.
—
It’s a slow day at the shop, and I use it to catch up on the administrative tasks I’ve neglected while trying to deal with the goose’s appearance and subsequent disappearance.
An added benefit of taking care of things that require me to be in the back office is that I avoid being around Annie.
I’m still mortified by how badly I misread our encounter, and—despite my admirable attempts to hide it—I know she’s fully aware of just how much I let my imagination run away with the idea of being with her.
Space is probably good until some of the embarrassment fades and last night’s lingering lust fully dissipates so I can think clearly.
Because I woke up this morning at peace with the idea of wanting more of her, for as long as possible. And now I need to adjust to the reality that Annie O’Neill simply isn’t going to be on the table. Or the counter. Or anywhere else, for that matter.
Which is fine. We’re adults. Sometimes adults go into things with different expectations, and now that hers have been made clear, I can adjust mine to match. I am nothing if not flexible.
Oh, who am I kidding? My lies are as transparent to myself as I know they were to Annie.
She suddenly appears in the doorway of the office as if summoned by my thoughts. I glance up, then back to the laptop screen, trying to play it cool.
“It’s after six. I went ahead and closed up,” she says. “Are you about ready to go?”
“Go where?”
“To look for the yellow VW Bug,” she says. “We were going to try to find it tonight. Remember?”
“Oh, right. Yeah. Let me just save this spreadsheet.”
“Did you really forget that we were still looking for the goose?”
“I didn’t forget. I’ve just been”—thinking about how desperately I want to taste you again, and lamenting that I never will—“staring at numbers all day. Fried my brain a little.”
We set out for Gustav’s neighborhood, figuring we’ll start there, then expand the search in the direction we saw the car drive off.
I feel like a total creep driving a mile below the speed limit so that we can get a look at every vehicle parked in front of every house and business, but I can’t think of anything that would be more practical.
“What if it’s in someone’s garage or around back or something?” I ask.
“And what if it’s parked in plain sight?” she counters. “Don’t be so pessimistic. It’s worth checking, at least.”
We’re silent for the next few minutes as I stare out the windshield at everything on the left side of the street and Annie watches out the passenger side window to scan the right.
She suddenly lets out a frustrated groan. “I don’t understand why you don’t want to just forget about this. Let it go.”
It takes me a minute to realize she isn’t talking about what happened between us but rather the hunt for the missing goose. Ironically, the answer is the same. “It isn’t that I don’t want to, it’s that I don’t think I can.”
“It’s unlikely the goose would be traced back to Virtu at this point.”
“Unlikely, maybe. But still not impossible, if the authorities ask the right people the right questions. I promised Harold I wouldn’t let anything happen to the business.
He and Graham worked so hard to build it, and Graham left me his half because he trusted that I would be as devoted to keeping everything running smoothly as he was.
So I won’t be able to let this go until the goose is back in my possession, and then out of it again.
Legally.” I hesitate for a moment, wondering if I should tell her that the goose belongs to Nicole.
She doesn’t really need to know that, though, does she?
It doesn’t change anything about the situation, at least not for her.
“Also, I did promise my friend I would help them donate it somewhere. I don’t want to have to go back to them and tell them I managed to lose it.
This is the first time they’ve trusted me with something in a while and I…
I don’t want them to think they can’t turn to me again in the future if they need something else, you know? ”
For some reason, it means a lot to me that Nicole knows I’m still someone she can count on. Maybe because it would be nice to be able to rely on her again too.
Annie doesn’t respond to what I’ve said, instead saying, “I don’t think the car is on this street. Maybe turn left up here?”
We continue driving around Lauraville for about half an hour, then go back to where we started and make our way farther eastward, the way the Beetle sped off in Gustav’s security footage.
It’s impossible to know which direction the woman turned—or if she turned—when she got to the light a few blocks down the road.
But frankly, this whole thing feels impossible.
So I make a split-second decision and go straight.
Which I guess is the correct choice, because Annie excitedly shouts after three blocks, “There it is! I see it!”
Sure enough, the yellow VW is parked outside a squat, freestanding restaurant.
“Lucky Duck Diner,” I read off the faded awning.
“It’s like finding the illicit goose you lost, at a diner called Lucky Duck,” she sings to the tune of Alanis Morissette’s “Ironic” as I pull into the parking lot. There’s far too many syllables for it to be a solid parody, but that somehow makes it more charming.
We get out of my Suburban and Annie immediately strolls over to the Volkswagen, where she cups her hands around her eyes and peers into each of the windows. “I don’t see it in there,” she says.
“Should we go inside, then?” I ask. “Look for a woman with purple hair?”
“And then what? We walk up to her and say, ‘I think you have something that belongs to us’?”
“Or some variation thereof.” I watch as Annie rubs her hands together, trying to warm them. “Come on,” I say, “I’ll buy you dinner. It’ll be the perfect cover.”
“Hm, I do enjoy watching you eat…” she says, shooting me a playful look as she moves toward the diner’s side entrance.
How the hell am I supposed to survive several more weeks of this?
A sign tells us to seat ourselves, so we settle into a small booth along the windows, where we can keep an eye on the yellow Beetle in case its owner manages to sneak past us.
Once we’re settled in, I pick up the menu—one of those large plastic-covered booklets that have entirely too many options—and begin to flip through.
Annie leans forward, one of her fingers hooking over the top of my menu and pulling it down slightly so I’ll meet her eyes. “Are you really okay with this, Cal?” she asks.
“Sure. Diners aren’t usually my first choice—”
“That isn’t what I meant.”
I sigh and put my menu back down on the table. “Do you not want me to be okay, Annie?”
“Of course I do! I just also know that—”
Before Annie can tell me what she knows, we’re interrupted by our server finally appearing at our table.
“Hey, what can I get you?” she asks quickly and follows it with a snap of the gum she’s chewing.
Annie and I turn our attention to her at the same time and, as my eyes widen, I catch a glimpse of Annie’s lips parting in surprise.
Because standing before us is none other than the purple-haired woman last seen stealing the goose off Gustav’s front porch.