“Hey, I’m in the middle—”
“Is Tango the big one who looks like a serial killer?”
“I think you need to be more specific,” he said.
“He was one of the men there last night. The one who didn’t smile. Ever.”
Scooby sighed. “Yeah. That’s him. He’s a good guy, Rowan. He has his demons. But he’ll keep you safe.”
“Are you mad at me?” I asked.
“Why would I be mad at you?”
“Because you’re ghosting me.”
“I’m not ghosting you,” he countered. “We’re talkin’ right now.”
“But you’re not here,” I said.
“I told you I wouldn’t be.”
“You told me if I said no, you wouldn’t be. I haven’t made a decision yet, ergo, there’s no reason for younotto be here.”
“I think having me there will just muddy the waters,” he said. “So, I’m gonna hang back so you can think clearly and figure out what you want to do.”
I lets out a frustrated grunt. “But how can I figure it out if you’re not here to woo me?”
“Look, there’s nothin’ more I’d like to do than take you up to your place and woo you all night long, but right now, you need to focus on what you want and where you want us to go, and I need to focus on keeping you safe. The best way to do that is to give each other some space.”
I bit back tears. “Do I have any say in that?”
“Not today.”
“Okay, well, you have a nice day, then.”
“You too, baby.”
I hung up and closed myself into my office. I gave myself seven minutes to cry, then pulled myself together and closed out the till while Dusty and Gizzard mopped the floors.
* * *
Scooby
After hanging up with Rowan, my heart breaking in two because I wanted nothing more than to ride back to the diner and pull her into my arms, I slid my phone into my pocket and let myself into my mother’s home. “Ma!”
“In here, baby,” she called back.
My mother owned a tiny three-bedroom bungalow in Colorado Springs. We’d moved into it when I was about ten and she’d moved heaven and earth to hold onto it even when things had been really hard on her.
I headed toward the kitchen and set the bag of groceries I’d brought on the counter. Mom was sitting at her little table by the window, a cup of tea in front of her, staring out the window. I made my way to her and leaned down to kiss her cheek. “Hey. You doin’ okay?”
She met my eyes, and I could tell the answer was no. Her eyes were bloodshot and puffy, evidence of crying. “Not really.”
My mom was almost sixty, but she was still beautiful. However, the tragedies of the past few years were definitely starting to show.
“Why didn’t you call me?” I asked, sitting beside her, and taking her hand.
“If I called you every time I missed your brother, honey, you’d have to move back in.” She squeezed my hand. “Parents aren’t supposed to lose their babies. I just have to figure out how to move through this.”