by J. S. Volpe
* * *
He caught up with Solace as she was just ascending the steps to Mr. Festal’s place.
“Hold up,” he called.
She turned, surprised, and watched him trot up to her.
“You lost this.” He held out her pencil.
She blinked at it, then checked the holster on the clipboard.
“Thanks,” she said. She took the pencil and slid it into its proper place. “That’s odd. It’s never fallen out before.”
From inside Mr. Festal’s place came three sharp barks. A moment later there was a faint scrabble of claws on tile, and something heavy slammed against the front door.
“I see what you mean about the dog,” Solace said.
“Yeah, so, hey, I was wondering,” Reynard said, talking fast so he could keep the encounter short enough for the returning-a-pencil story to remain plausible, “what time’s your lunch break tomorrow?”
“Uh, about noon, but—”
“Great, that’s what I figured. See, I’ll be in Estover Park around that time tomorrow, and I was thinking, if you’re free, you’re welcome to join me. I’ll be at the bench on the south side of the pond, you know the one?”
“Um, yeah, but—”
“Great, well I’ll be there, like I said, and if you have the time, you are more than welcome to join me.” He leaned in toward her and in a lower voice said, “Besides, there’s something I really need to tell you.”
She cocked her head, intrigued. Before she could think to ask why he couldn’t just tell her now, he said, “Well, sorry to hold you up like this, I know you’re in a hurry, and actually so am I, so I’ll get going now, and hopefully I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He turned and strode away without awaiting a reply, sure she wouldn’t be able to resist the mysterious “something” he needed to tell her.