Loverboy

by Bowen, Sarina

  “If you’re an apple, I guess it is. Clamp it to the counter. Let’s go, Gunn. I have apple turnovers to bake. Apples are in the fridge.”

  Since Gunnar is good with his hands—a fact I know all too well now—he figures out the peeler right away. It only takes him ten minutes to peel and core all the apples I’ll need today.

  “This thing is amazing. I didn’t know you could make an apple into a Slinky! Do you have any more? Would it work on a pear? How about a potato?”

  “Nope. You’re done. Step away from the produce.”

  “But—”

  “Gunnar,” I chide. “Clean up all those peels. Now I have a question.”

  “Hmm?”

  “What’s the company called? You never say the name.”

  “Ah. It’s a secret. Only the principals know. The employees who own shares.”

  “But why? Who’d work for a company if they don’t even know the name?”

  “About two hundred people.” Gunnar chuckles.

  The more I hear about this place, the more insane it gets. “Tell me the name. I won’t spill it.”

  “Sorry, sweetheart. I can’t do that.”

  Of course he can’t. I shouldn’t care. He has his life, and I have mine. We’re not a couple. There’s nothing between us except for a WiFi signal and a night of explosive, toe-curling sex. “Fine. Don’t tell me. But I’d still like you to make me a latte.”

  “Yes, boss. Whatever you say, boss. See how good I am at saying that? It hardly makes me want to vomit at all.” He flashes me that wonderful, evil smile. The one that makes women’s panties fall right off.

  And then he goes to make my coffee.

  22

  Gunnar

  When I return to the pie shop many hours later, Teagan is working behind the counter. “Hey, Gunn,” she says, looking up from her phone. “Isn’t it your day off?”

  “Just couldn’t stay away,” I insist, heading over to where Scout is seated at a corner table, posing as a customer.

  “Working hard?” I ask, taking the chair opposite her.

  “It’s a tough assignment,” she says from behind the computer monitor. “I mean, sex is nice. But the raspberry vinegar tart I just ate was on a whole other level.”

  “Raspberry vinegar, huh? I haven’t tried that one.”

  “More for me.” She closes the laptop and stows it. “I can go, right?”

  “Yeah. As soon as you tell me what you saw here today.”

  “Not a thing.” She crosses her arms, impatient. “This is boring as fuck, Gunnar.”

  “But that’s a good thing,” I remind her.

  “So you say. But it’s also why I’m never asked to sit still.”

  She’s right—Max employs her strictly as an investigator. He doesn’t ever ask her to be anybody’s security detail. I wonder why she’s here today, but I can’t ask that question now.

  “Any news?” she asks me. “I’m dying to know what was on that thing.” She’s referring, of course, to the camera she recovered from Smith’s room last night.

  “There was some chatter.” I pull out my phone, which is a secure device. And I open an app we often use to communicate privately. Using the pad of my finger, I slowly draw a series of letters. Each one disappears a moment after I draw it, but not before Scout can see that I’ve written R-U-S-S-I-A-N and then T-U-R-K-I-S-H.

  Her eyes widen at that last one. “Really? How many languages can one guy know?”

  I shrug. But the news is troubling, because it makes Max’s hunch look stronger. Smith may be working for the same arms dealer who ruined Max’s life ten years ago.

  “All right. I’m out of here,” she says. “Go talk to your girl.”

  Your girl. I like the sound of that better than I really should. I spent the whole day thinking pleasant thoughts about Posy. It’s been a long time since a woman got under my skin the way she does.

  Scout gathers up her stuff. “Later, Gunn. You’ve already cut into my leisure time.”

  “Later.” I walk away without asking what her idea of leisure is. Bungee jumping, probably. Or knife-throwing. She’s an adrenaline junkie.

  My leisure time today began at the shop’s seven a.m. opening hour, when Duff came in to relieve me. After explaining to Posy that there would be a Company agent on the premises until further notice, I went home and took a two-hour nap, after which I did a quick workout and then had a meeting with Max.

  But now that closing time is near, I’m here to escort Posy on her run to the bank, and then wherever else she wants to go.

  When I peek into the kitchen, I catch Posy alone. She's bent over her work, braiding three delicate strands of dough together and humming to herself.

  I couldn’t tell you why I stay silent for a moment, just watching her. But there's an energy to Posy that's always fascinated me. Piemaking isn't a life or death job, but she brings a laser-like focus to everything she does.

  It was the same all those years ago behind the bar. I used to roll my eyes every time she'd carefully measure out the liquor for a gin and tonic. But I’m not rolling them anymore. Posy isn’t the pampered girl I assumed. She’s so much more than that.

  She must feel my gaze on her, because she turns suddenly, startled. “Jeez, Gunnar. I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “Sorry,” I grunt, stalking across the room towards her.

  She bites her lip and looks away. Like she's not sure how to play it. But I know just what to do. I stop in front of her and lean down, giving her a single, soft kiss. “Are you okay? You look tired.”

  “Can't think of why that might be.” Her cheeks go pink as she says it.

  Chuckling, I lean in and kiss her again, a good one this time. It's a kiss that remembers all the fun we had last night.

  Until the back door bangs open. “Are you kissing Posy?” Jerry demands.

  “Yes. People do that sometimes.”

  “You have to ask her first,” Jerry insists.

  “Right,” I agree.

  “I didn’t hear you ask,” Jerry argues.

  “He asked very quietly,” Posy replies as she puts the heel of her hand in the center of my chest and pushes me away.

  “How long until I flip the sign?” Jerry asks, the kiss already forgotten.

  Posy glances at the oven clock. “Twenty minutes. You can wash these pie plates out.” She carries a stack of dishes over to the sink, and deposits them at his workstation.

  “Okay,” he says, turning on the water. “I will do it.” The water makes a racket against the metal pie plates, and Jerry sings loudly as he works.

  Posy takes the pie she’d been finishing and slips it into the oven. “This is for my nephew. He got an A on his spelling test.”

  “Lucky guy. What flavor is it?”

  “Chocolate pecan.”

  “Can I have a piece?”

  She frowns at me. “You think I’d present my nephew with a pie that’s missing a slice? What kind of favorite aunt do you think I am?”

  “Well …” I laugh uncomfortably. Then I lean a little closer to keep our conversation private. “Can I buy you dinner? It’s either that or I’m spending the night in a car on this block.”

  Posy’s eyes widen. “You mean—for security purposes?”

  “Yeah. Sorry.” I cross my arms in front of my chest. “It doesn’t have to be me, if you don’t want it to be. Max would send someone else.”

  She grabs the table with both hands. “Is it really that bad? You still think that guy might try to track me down?”

  “Probably not,” I say quickly. “But I’d rather be extra careful until I figure out what the hell is going on. The WiFi murderer. The break-in. I’d like to think that it’s not related, but—”

  “—You think it is?”

  “I think it could be. And I don’t want you caught in the middle.”

  She bites her lip, the same one that I kissed a moment ago. “Okay. How am I going to explain to Ginny and Aaron why you’re in my apartme
nt?”

  “I can stay in the car. Or get someone else to do it.”

  “No. If there was really a problem, I’d want it to be …” She gulps. “You.”

  “All right,” I say, strangely touched by this decision. “If it’s easier, I can hang out down here in the cafe until after Aaron goes to bed.”

  “No, that’s silly.” She gives her head a shake. “Ginny is making fried chicken and Caesar salad for dinner. You’re invited. But—” she clears her throat. “You have to sleep on the couch.”

  “Of course,” I agree immediately. “I wouldn’t assume otherwise.”

  Teagan sticks her head into the kitchen and calls to me. “I gotta dash fifteen minutes early. Gunnar, can you watch the counter?”

  “Sure,” I call. “I’ll be right there!”

  Posy waves me toward the cafe, which has nearly emptied out. “I did everything except clean Lola,” Teagan says.

  “Sure, sure. I can’t do that for you on my day off. No problem.”

  Teagan gives me a secretive smile. “Isn’t this the second time I’ve seen you here on your day off? I’m only giving you a better excuse to stick around and make heart eyes at the boss.”

  “Thanks, I guess.”

  She grabs her purse from under the counter. But before she walks away, the door opens to admit two beefy men in cheap suits.

  Cops, my brain says immediately. Interesting. “Can I help you guys? I was just about to turn off the espresso machine, but you made it just in time.”

  “Sorry,” the bald cop says. “Not here for coffee. Are either of you the manager?”

  “No,” Teagan says. “Why?”

  The second cop pulls out his wallet and shows us his shield. “NYPD special intelligence department. We’re tracking a guy who mighta been seen in here. He’s bad news.”

  “What kind of bad news?” Teagan asks.

  “Can’t really talk about it.”

  “Huh.” I frown appropriately. “Got a picture of him? Between the two of us, we’re behind this counter seven days a week.”

  “That’s the problem,” the bald guy says. “We don’t have one. We’re hoping you guys could help us out. If you let us put a camera in here, we could find this guy. The mayor really wants him caught.”

  Oh, like it hasn’t been tried, I privately grumble. And the mayor can bite me. “But how would that work?” I ask aloud. “If you don’t know who you’re looking for, what good would it do?”

  “We know him,” his buddy says. “But we need a picture. That’s the point of the cameras.”

  Sure, asshole. These guys are looking for the same person I am, for the same reason I am. They’re just a little late to the party.

  “I gotta run,” Teagan says.

  “Go on,” I agree. “I’ll handle this.”

  She leaves, and my phone starts dancing a jig in my pocket, probably because Max is watching this little exchange. “Let me get the boss for you, okay? I don’t have the power to decide these things.”

  “Okay, man,” one of the cops says.

  “Hey, Posy?” I call out. Then I walk to the kitchen and stick my head inside. “Boss? Oh great and powerful one? There’s some guys here to ask you a question!”

  Frowning, Posy comes toward me.

  Say no, I mouth.

  She blinks. Then she passes me and greets the cops. “Can I help you?”

  “Ma’am, are you Posy?” one of them asks.

  “I am.”

  “I thought you’d be older!” he says with a chuckle. “I thought you’d look like my nonna, maybe. She makes pies, too.”

  Posy turns to give me a look over her shoulder that says, do you see what I have to put up with?

  I wink, and then pull my phone out of my pocket. Max has been ringing me continuously since the cops walked in. I finally answer it with, “Hey, Mom. What’s up?”

  “She isn’t going to allow the cops to set up in her shop, is she?” he barks.

  “Probably not.”

  “They’ll see all our equipment.”

  “Thanks, Sherlock. I realized that.”

  “We’ve got to find our Plumber,” Max says. “We’ve got three days, tops. These guys will come back with a warrant.”

  “I know, Mama. Drink some prune juice and calm down.”

  “Find him. He isn’t a customer. We’re missing something.”

  Fuck. Fuckity fuck. He’s right. But I can’t discuss it now. “Talk soon?” I say cheerfully.

  “Yeah, go,” Max says, hanging up on me.

  “It just wouldn’t feel right,” Posy is saying. “My customers don’t expect me to photograph them.”

  “But you could help us catch a bad guy,” the cop argues.

  “Bad at what, though?” Posy asks. “You didn’t say. Does this have anything to do with my break-in?”

  “What break-in?” the bald cop asks.

  Posy puts her hands on her hips. “The one I reported earlier this month. Did you guys even look into it?”

  They exchange glances. “Tell you what—we’ll look into that tonight. We’ll come back in a day or two, and maybe you could help us out after you sleep on it. I’ll leave my card.”

  “Thank you,” she says stiffly. And they’re gone a moment later. “Jerry!” Posy calls. “You can flip the sign.”

  Jerry comes trundling into the cafe to do his favorite job. And—on a hunch—I go the opposite direction, into the kitchen, where Jerry’s iPad is sticking out of his backpack near the door. I grab the tablet, and it’s unlocked. He must have been on it only a moment ago. I hurry to see what apps he used today.

  And I learn nothing. Jerry likes WebToons and the Marvel website. He got a couple messages from his mother. That’s it.

  Fuck.

  I slip the iPad back into his backpack just before he reenters the room. “I’m goin’ home,” he says to me, grabbing his stuff, and opening the back door. “See you tomorrow Gunnar.”

  “Have a nice evening, kid.” I lock the door behind him, and then I walk back into the cafe to find Posy leaning on the counter, looking troubled. “You okay?”

  “No, not really.” She straightens up. “I hate this. I hate having cameras in my place. And now the cops want to do the same thing?” She throws her arms out to the side. “This is crazy. I could say no to all of you. I could turn off the WiFi, right? This could all be someone else’s problem.”

  “Well, sure,” I say carefully. “But then he’ll just use someone else’s.”

  “I don’t even know this is real, Gunn,” she says. “I’ve taken your word for the whole thing. I feel like an extra in a Hollywood thriller. I don’t know the whole story, I haven’t seen the script. I’m just supposed to go where you tell me without asking questions.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I’d be frustrated, too.”

  My phone buzzes again in my pocket. I pull it out. Max is calling, and there’s a text from him on the screen. Let me speak to her.

  Oh man. I answer the phone and hold it toward Posy. “Max.”

  “He’s watching us argue?” she asks. “That’s fucking creepy.”

  “The cops got his attention,” I say. “And you know this is real, because suddenly there’s a whole lot of people interested in your internet connection.”

  “Why ME?” Posy shrieks. Then she takes the phone from my hand. “Why me?” she repeats to Max. “Can’t someone else be the hero today? I’m tired.”

  They talk for a couple of minutes. Max is a charming fucker when he wants to be, especially to women. The younger agents call him ladykiller behind his back.

  Eventually, Posy hands back my phone. “This is madness,” she says grumpily.

  “I agree. What did you and Max decide?”

  “He promised he’d hand over the information he gets to the cops. He said that he was ahead of them already, and that it wouldn’t help to let them come in here and hang more cameras if there was a chance they’d find yours.”

  “All right,�
� I say carefully. I know we’re asking a lot. “There aren’t many people who are as sharp as Max.”

  She rolls her eyes at me. “You’re only saying that because he can see you right now. Does he read lips?”

  I throw my head back and laugh. “I’d say it anyway. Now come on. Let’s make your bank deposit. I’m walking with you this time.”

  “Why?” She stalks over to the cash register and opens the drawer.

  “Because we can’t afford any more bad luck, okay? Just humor me.”

  “Fine.” She counts out a stack of twenties. “Just as soon as my pie is out of the oven.”

  “If you want to know the truth, this whole thing is just a ruse so I can get a piece of chocolate pecan later.”

  “Congratulations, then. I guess it worked.” She gives me a glare and returns to counting the drawer.

  23

  Posy

  Gunnar Scott is sleeping on my sofa.

  Or at least he will be, if Ginny ever leaves my room.

  We all had a very pleasant dinner together. Aaron and Gunnar made equivalent noises of delight over the pie. “Some kids don’t like nuts in their food,” Aaron had said. “But I think that’s silly.”

  “You’re a hundred percent right,” Gunnar had said. “I don’t know what people have against nuts.”

  “Were you a picky eater as a child, Gunnar?” Ginny had asked, a sneaky smile on her face.

  “Not at all,” he’d said, setting his fork on his empty plate. “I’ve always thought more is more. Pretty much about everything.”

  Then he’d looked me right in the eye and winked.

  “Posy was a picky eater,” Ginny said.

  “I was not!” I don’t know why I’d been so quick to defend myself.

  “You didn’t eat mussels.”

  “They’re chewy,” I’d said while trying not to gag.

  “Or oysters. I’ll bet Gunnar likes oysters. I wonder if he likes clams.”

  Sometimes sisters are the worst. Mine has no boundaries whatsoever.

  “I like food, period,” Gunnar had said, watching Aaron eat his slice of pie. “There wasn’t always enough.”

  “Why?” my nephew had asked, raising his head to stare at our guest.