Loverboy

by Bowen, Sarina

  “Max. Why are we doing this right now? We’re working on the most important operation since … maybe ever. You’re about to get exactly what you want. Let’s just get the work done.”

  He picks up one of his Blackwing pencils and taps the eraser onto the desk. “What I’m getting is a poor substitute for what I really want,” he says quietly. “But your life could turn out quite differently.”

  I don’t even know what to say to that. “I’m already thirty-six years old. It’s not like I’m going to grow up to be an optimist. You and I see a lot of dark things. We know too much and we take a lot of risks. No woman really wants a piece of that.”

  “Doesn’t she? Did you even ask?” He tosses the pencil onto the desk. “Nobody’s life is all sunshine and rainbows. There’s the part where you eat your spinach, and when you’re done, you get a piece of pie for dessert. You can have both, Gunn.”

  “I like spinach,” is the most intelligent thing I can think of to say.

  “Go home and get some sleep. There’s more to do tomorrow.”

  I rise from the chair and leave to do as he says.

  * * *

  Or I try to, anyway. But I don’t sleep very well.

  The next day is just as busy at work. We meet with some clandestine asshole from the State Department. We give him reams of information, and all he gives us back is a promise to take a hard look at the photos of Aga that Max is promising him.

  “That’s it?” I grumble when we’re back in Max’s office. “He didn’t even say if they’d arrest him.”

  “They’ll arrest him,” Max says, eating another take-out sandwich without even tasting it. “Tomorrow by noon. Now check on Teagan and Geoff, then go home and rest.”

  By the time I get home to my silent apartment, I have a new voice message from Posy. I spend a few minutes pretending that I’m not in a hurry to listen to it. It’s not like I’m going to hear words of love. She’s justifiably angry at me. I walked out on her without much explanation. I didn’t even say a proper goodbye.

  Not to mention that she’s shorthanded right now. And all I did about that was put a sign in her window.

  Yeah, she’s mad at me. And I deserve it.

  I pull out my phone. My finger hovers over the playback button for a half second. Up until now, I've been doing a good job of putting Posy out of my mind for a couple of days.

  It's really for the best. After all, I promised I'd take care of things. I swore I’d get the assholes out of her shop and out of her hair, so she could go back to concentrating on pie.

  But her message on my phone is like a drug. I feel the pull. And my resistance fails as I tap the message and lift the phone to my ear. Because who am I kidding? I even close my eyes so I can listen better to the sound of her sweet voice in my ear. Hi Gunnar. She lets out a sigh. Then she goes on.

  Look, I want to be mad at you. But I can’t stop thinking about you. I don’t know where you are right now. And I should probably just leave you alone. But something strange happened, and I couldn’t help wondering what you’d think.

  Yesterday, I got a visit from the health department, and it was off cycle. I didn’t give the timing much thought, because it’s always stressful whenever it happens.

  This inspector was especially thorough. He wanted to see the basement storage room, which I don't use. But I’m not allowed to say no. And then they found two dead rats down there, below a broken window, so I got a bad grade.

  I let out a groan, because I don’t like where this story is going.

  Today I called the exterminator, because that’s what you do even if you already know how they got in. But the guy who showed up said something really weird. The rats in my basement aren't Norway rats—the kind that everybody has in New York. These were pet store rats. Somebody broke the window and put them there.

  So that’s just freaky. Maybe it happened the night of the break-in, and I just didn’t notice. But it has to be intentional. So I called the health department and asked them why they'd come early. And they said there was a complaint of vermin that inspired their early visit.

  Posy gets quiet for a second, and I’m not sure if the message has been cut off. But then she speaks again.

  Someone is trying to hurt the pie shop, and I don’t know why. It’s tempting to think that it has to do with whatever criminal you’re trying to lock up. But putting rats in my basement and then calling the health inspector is a petty maneuver.

  It’s my problem to solve. I don’t even know why I called. I don't really need you to fight my battles. I have to get used to not having you around.

  The customers have to get used to it, too. You wouldn’t believe how many people asked for you today. Where’s Gunnar? When is he coming back?

  This happened last time, too. After you left the bar, people asked about you for months. I tried really hard not to be offended. But you were fun, damn it. It wasn’t the same after you left. The only good thing about it was that I could test one of your theories without you noticing. I started wearing low-cut tops to get better tips.

  You can probably guess what happened. My tips jumped twenty-eight percent the first night. So then I was even more irritated at you than before.

  I smile to myself. And my heart aches just picturing Posy behind that bar trying out her low-cut top. For science.

  This is the longest voice message ever, and it's probably going to cut me off soon. So I’ll just close by telling you that my new hire is terrific and I don’t miss you.

  You know I’m lying, right? I do miss you, damn it. But I understand why you’re not here, and I’ll just get used to it. Stay safe out there.

  Bye.

  When the message ends, I sit there for a while, holding my phone to my ear like a ninny. But I’m just not ready for it to end—the message, or my time with Posy. It’s crazy to think that I’m not going back to the pie shop. It’s like leaving a movie in the middle, before you get to see what happens.

  I’m invested, damn it. I want to see her again.

  But after I waste a few minutes feeling sorry for myself, I realize I’ve got the perfect excuse to go over to Posy’s one more time. I have a bad feeling about how those rats got into her basement. And I might even have a way to prove it.

  “Hey, Mark?” I ask the guy who answers The Company switchboard. “I need you to pull some video for me. From a camera on the back door of the pie shop.”

  “Sure, Gunn,” he says. “What am I looking for?”

  “Two days ago. About ten in the morning. Maybe ten-thirty. Find the bit where I come out the back door with a cup of tea for my break. Back up immediately from there—grab the footage of a woman who stopped in the alley. I don’t know how wide the angle of that backdoor camera reaches, but I think she was up to no good back there. I spotted her when I came outside.”

  “Sure, sure,” Mark says. “I’m on it.”

  “Thanks, man.”

  * * *

  An hour later, I call Posy back.

  “Gunnar,” she says, sounding surprised. “I regret leaving a long, pathetic message on your phone.”

  “I don’t regret it,” I tell her. “There was nothing pathetic about it. Except for the part about your health department visit. Can I come over? There’s something big I want to show you.”

  “You showed it to me already,” Posy says drily. “I’m already a fan. But maybe that wouldn’t be wise.”

  “Wow.” I laugh. “Tough crowd here tonight. Can I please stop over?”

  “In the first place,” Posy says. “Aaron and I are playing a vicious game of Go Fish. It’s just the two of us tonight. And in the second place, what’s the point? You hate New York. Is that going to change?”

  “Well, probably not,” I admit. “Although I’m a fan of one part of New York—the part that’s wherever you happen to be.”

  Posy is quiet for a second. “My life is here, Gunnar. Yours isn’t. That’s just reality.”

  She sounds so sure. But I’m starting to
understand that my solitary lifestyle is a choice, not an inevitability. And I’m finally starting to realize why people settle down with someone special.

  Because when you find that special person, it’s really hard to walk away.

  “Listen, this is important,” I beg. The truth is that I could send her the footage and be done with it. But that’s not good enough for me. I want to help Posy solve this problem. I want to be there when she needs me. “I just need fifteen minutes of your time.”

  “Fine,” she says with a sigh. “I’m available to talk to you at eight-thirty.”

  That must be after the kid’s bedtime. “Great. I’ll be there.”

  After we hang up, I go outside and visit the bodega on the corner. I buy a dozen roses. They’re not as fancy as the flowers at a florist’s shop, but it’s the best I can do at the moment. It occurs to me that Posy is named after a flower, but nobody ever buys her any.

  What does a posy look like anyway? I make a mental note to figure that out. And then I’ll hunt some down.

  I’m a very stubborn man. Whatever I put my mind to, I can achieve. And impressing Posy is my new goal. I don’t really know what a future for Posy and I would look like. But I do know that she and I aren’t done. We can’t be.

  30

  Posy

  Aaron doesn’t want to go to sleep, because he overheard me telling Gunnar to come over.

  “I haven’t seen Gunnar in dayyyyyys,” he complains as I tuck him into bed for the eleventy-billionth time.

  “He’s not royalty,” I grumble. “And he’s just popping over to give me something. You’re not missing a thing.”

  “But I liked it when he was here,” Aaron says.

  Me too, kid. Me too.

  Nevertheless, I adjust Aaron’s nightlight—which is shaped like a rocket ship—and show myself out.

  Then I dash up the stairs and into my bedroom for a five-minute makeover. Just because I’ve accepted the fact that Gunnar is exiting my life doesn’t mean I want to look like a wreck while he does it. I put on a cute little scoop neck top over my jeans. I brush my teeth and my hair and put on some lip gloss.

  Then I scrutinize myself in the mirror.

  Nice going, that little voice says. Cute enough to make a point, but not trying too hard, either.

  My phone buzzes with a text. I’m downstairs, but I didn’t want to hit the buzzer and wake up the kid.

  Gunnar is outside! my hormones shout. But I ignore them, along with that fizz of excitement in my tummy.

  I cross the living room and lean on the button that unlocks the front door. My goal is to get rid of him as soon as I can. Then to drink a big glass of lonely girl wine and read a dirty book in bed.

  A moment later I open the door to find him standing there with a dozen roses.

  Flowers! my hormones shriek. He loves us!

  If only. “Hi Gunnar. Is this what you wanted to show me?” I ask, taking the bouquet that he’s offered.

  “Nope. That’s just because I miss you.” He steps in, closes the door, and gives me a sudden one-armed hug. He drops a kiss to my temple, too.

  My hormones light up like horny fireflies on a hot June night.

  I step away, carrying the roses to the kitchen, where I grab a vase off the top of the refrigerator and fill it with water. “So what did you want to show me?”

  “Yeah! What is it?” yells Aaron from downstairs.

  Amused, Gunnar walks over to the top of the stairs, and addresses the kid. “It’s just a boring work thing. For the pie shop. I promise you’re not missing out.”

  “Will you play Sorry with me sometime?” my nephew asks.

  “Kid, next time I’m in New York, you and I can have a pie shop Sorry date if your mom says it’s okay. Now go to sleep.”

  “Night, Gunnar!” Aaron yells.

  “What is this boring pie shop thing?” I ask a few minutes later when we’re finally settled on the sofa. I’ve left a couple feet of distance between us, but the scent of roses is making me a little crazy. I wonder what it would be like to date Gunnar seriously.

  Stressful, probably. He has a scary job. And other women would always be throwing themselves at him.

  “It’s about your rat infestation,” Gunnar says, pulling his laptop out of a messenger bag, and setting it on the coffee table. “There are many species of rat, apparently.”

  “I know that,” I say a little too curtly.

  “Ah, but I’m not sure you know about this kind of rat.” He presses a button, bringing a video to life on the screen.

  “Is that Saroya?” I ask, leaning forward to watch her stroll into the frame carrying a tool in her right hand. It might be a screwdriver. She leans over and pokes that thing right through my basement window, making me gasp.

  She tucks the tool back into her jacket pocket. Then she leans over again to inspect her work, just as someone’s head comes into view at the bakery door.

  It’s Gunnar’s head.

  “You saw her!” I blurt. “Oh my God. She planted those rats, right? What did she say she was doing out there?”

  “I wish I’d seen the whole thing, honey. But when she showed me the window, she had the balls to complain that it looked trashy. I’m sorry, Posy. I didn’t realize what she’d done until I listened to your message.”

  “How could you?” I can barely wrap my mind around it myself. My breath is coming in fast gasps. “She’s out to get me. Why? She already got Spalding. Wasn’t that her goal?” I feel lightheaded all of a sudden. Nothing makes sense.

  “Come here.” Gunnar moves closer to me on the sofa and wraps an arm around me.

  The brace of his warm, sturdy body calms me down a little. I rest my cheek against his shoulder and take a deeper breath.

  “I don’t know what her game is. She’s not a well person. But you’re going to be all right.”

  “Okay,” I say, taking a deep breath against my panic. “But I need to tell her that I’m on to her. And that she can’t get away with it.”

  “That might work,” Gunnar says cautiously. “I want to do some more digging, though. There might be a reason she wants to hurt you.”

  “Besides her being a complete and total psycho bitch?”

  “Well, yeah.” Gunnar strokes my hair. “I’ve been looking into her. And I think her mother used to work at Paxton’s. Maybe her mother got fired, or something.”

  “Really?” I gasp. “Is that Saroya’s problem?”

  “Not sure yet. But I’ll find out what I can.” He drops a kiss onto my head.

  “Thank you,” I say, noting my position, which is just a few inches shy of reclining in his lap. I’m supposed to be cutting ties with Gunnar and looking out for myself. Oops. “Can I have that footage? I’m going to send it to Spalding.”

  “It’s in your email inbox already,” Gunnar says.

  I extract myself from his embrace and fetch my phone. The email is right there. I save the video to my phone and then write a new email, attaching it. Spalding, look at this please. It’s important.

  Then I tap his number and dial, hoping to leave a voice message.

  But the jerk picks up. “Posy! Is something the matter? I thought piemakers went to sleep before now?”

  “Usually,” I snap. “But tonight I got a very disturbing video off our security system. Spalding, you’re not going to like hearing this. But Saroya is trying to interfere with my business. She broke a window, and probably planted vermin on the premises. Then she called the health inspectors—”

  “Posy! That’s nonsense. Saroya wouldn’t—”

  “Check your email. I just sent you the proof. And—” my head is practically exploding as I start linking together the possibilities “—she may have been responsible for my break-in, too.”

  “Posy! This is crazy talk—”

  “—Not as crazy as she is. Go check your email.” I hang up on him. And then I power my phone all the way down, so he can’t call me back.

  “Wow,” Gunnar says. “
Strong move.”

  It was, and now my hands are shaking. I pace back and forth across the living room rug. “I will not be his doormat any longer. I thought pouring a bottle of vintage champagne over his head in the middle of a fancy restaurant would have gotten him out of my life. But he’s still right next door. With his …” I take a deep breath instead of letting loose with an ugly stream of words. Although Spalding deserves them all.

  But Aaron doesn’t. And I’d lay odds that he’s listening downstairs.

  “What’s the connection?” I ask. “Between Saroya’s mother and the restaurant?”

  “All I know is that she used to work there,” Gunnar says, standing up beside me, and putting his hands on my shoulders. “But we’ll know more soon. And I hate to point this out, but the fact that Saroya is turning out to be a jealous nutter is actually good news.”

  “How?” I gasp.

  “It means that your recent problems are probably unrelated to the criminal that Max is hunting down.”

  “Oh.” I gulp. “I suppose that’s a silver lining.”

  Gunnar pulls me into a hug, and I relax against his broad chest without really meaning to. But it feels so good. His broad hand strokes my back. “I missed you.”

  “Why?” I scoff. “I’m a wreck. My business is always on the brink of disaster. I get up at five every morning, which isn’t all that fun. My ex’s girlfriend is trying to sink me. It’s just long hours and drama here all the time. You hate my city. And you never wanted to set foot in my shop at all. You don’t even like coffee!”

  “But I like you, in spite of the coffee and the drama. I miss curling up with you after a long day. I miss talking to you on my break.”

  “You miss the pie,” I grumble, not willing to believe it.

  “That doesn’t make me a bad person,” he whispers. “It takes a lot of calories to build all this muscle.”