“What’s me?”
“Me being with, uh…you. And you being you. Well, me being me too, but you’re also you.”
There was silk in his deep voice, as well as humor, when he agreed, “I am me.”
Why could I not stop talking?
I really couldn’t because I kept doing it.
“What I’m saying is, I can go grocery shopping and everything without being recognized. At least, down in Phoenix.”
“Is that right?”
I nodded, maybe fervently, and to stop doing that, I snatched up my drink and took a far-too-large sip.
The lime in the gimlet hit me hard with sour and it took a lot not to make a face.
Drink, bad.
I put it down.
“Excuse me,” we heard from beyond the screen.
“Yeah?” Duncan answered.
A waitress squeezed around.
“Your drink, sir,” she said.
His drink hit the table as did an elegant, cut crystal tall-sided bowl filled with a crisp bit of paper in which was tucked, to almost overflowing, a bevy of seasoned chicharrones.
Yum.
“Would you like another drink, Ms. Swan?” she offered.
Absolutely not.
“No,” I answered. “But thank you.”
“I’ll be around in a bit to check on you,” she said, before she squeezed away.
I took a deep breath.
Duncan took a sip of beer.
I turned to him to get a firm hold on this conversation, which meant having it, and ending it, and walking away.
For good.
I didn’t get that first word out.
“What’s your cat’s name?” he asked.
It came out automatically. “Cookie.”
“I thought you were a dog person.”
“I am. I travel too much for a dog. And my building doesn’t let you have animals over a certain weight. So I’ve discovered my latent cat person.”
“That sucks. The certain weight rule that is. Not you being a latent cat person.”
“Yes.”
He grinned at me and it was not lost on me it was all kinds of playful.
And woefully effective.
“I thought you rich, jet-set celebrities chartered planes and took your animals everywhere.”
“Well, I might be a rich, jet-set celebrity, but I’m also a responsible pet owner, and I’m not certain dragging a cat, or a dog, all over the globe is good for the cat, or dog. Cookie notwithstanding,” I hastened to add. “But only for this trip and only because she doesn’t mind car rides…uh, much.”
“What you’re saying is, you didn’t want to be without her, so you caved when you know she hated every second of being in the car on the way up here.”
Cookie didn’t seem worse for the wear.
In fact, she had found a cozy nook in the toss pillows on the bed to curl up in before I left for dinner, the very nook she was stretching out of when I returned.
Though Mary reported she’d been vocal the entire way up, and I didn’t think Cookie was sharing her desire to get a better view out the windows.
“Well, hated is a strong word.”
“Mm-hmm.”
I wished he’d quit humming all deep and rumbly like that.
“Listen, Duncan—”
“I have five.”
My head ticked. “Sorry? Five?”
“Animals.” He reached for a chicharron. “Not counting the horses. Three dogs. A cat. And a rabbit.”
He’d always loved animals.
All of them.
Even snakes.
So this did not surprise me.
Though I was probably more relieved than was healthy that he did not share he had a snake, since what would it matter to me if he did?
He started counting them down.
“Shasta, my rescue husky. Rocco, Sully’s tripod silver receiver. Bounce, Gage’s rabbit. Tuck, our cat. And my baby, Killer.”
“Your baby?” I whispered.
“A Peekapoo. Pekingese, poodle mix. She weighs about twelve pounds. Could not believe that score at the shelter. Then again, they all were scores from the shelter.”
He crunched into the chicharron.
“I thought you were a vegetarian,” I noted.
“I avoid meat. I limit intake of products produced from animals, specifically cows and pigs, because cows cause an environmental issue, and the treatment of swine for consumption is unconscionable. Examples, I use almond milk and go for olive oil instead of butter. But I’m not a vegetarian.”
Okay, well that explained that.
“Though, just to say,” he continued, “as proved seconds ago, my conscious isn’t exactly clear since I find it harder to say no to pork because…bacon, and well…” He dipped his head to the chicharrones with his lips twitching.
He’d always leaned toward pork. Even at restaurants, he’d go for a chop rather than a steak.
I didn’t need this memory of how well I knew him.
“You have a twelve-pound girl dog named Killer?” I asked.
“My son Gage has an interesting sense of humor.”
I could not get caught on thoughts of Duncan having a little dog he referred to as his “baby” or a son he spoke of fondly who had an interesting sense of humor.
What I needed to get caught on was guiding us to whatever closure we needed to achieve.
But curiosity got the better of me.
Because he’d always loved horses and always wanted to own one.
“How many horses do you have?”
“Three.”
“Do you ride a lot?”
“Yes, seein’ as I got three horses to exercise and the boys are at school.”