When we’re done with the workout, he proves my point. He dives into his daily practice, which he seems to prefer to do shirtless, which suits me just fine, especially after he’s been pumping weights. While he plays, seducing the morning with his version of Beethoven’s 5th, I start the coffee. I’ve had time to down a full cup, set up my MacBook, and email a few customers about some of the items from the Riptide list, when he sets his violin down. I pour him a cup and we meet at the island where I hand him his coffee, and we claim stools we rotate to face each other.
“I like having you here with me like this,” he says.
I’m charmed by the sincerity in his voice. “I like being here.”
“Good. Keep liking it,” he says, sipping his coffee. “We’re supposed to head over to the bakery about four. They’re giving out free cookies from five to seven and trust me, it’s a madhouse.”
“They do this every year?”
“They did it last year and I wasn’t here, but they sent me photos of the line-up. And this year, we’ll both find out firsthand.”
“I finally get to meet Jerry.”
“Yes, you do. You’ll like him. He’s a good match for Jenny.”
We spend the next two hours just talking about everything under the sun, including that text message, which I still do not believe came from Gio. “I remember exactly who was with me during that trip. I sent the names to Blake yesterday on my way to see Mark.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“And I remember everything about that trip. Gio was actually on a school trip for most of my visit. I think I saw him once. And yes, I told Blake when I gave him the names. Could Gio want me away from you for fear I’m after the formula? Yes. If he came home and found us together, I could see that. Did he push us together? Doubtful.”
Eventually, the conversation moves to other topics, and we eat Rice Krispies while laughing about our childhoods. We end on the topic of the holidays. “Mine were on the road,” he says, “usually performing.”
“That’s horrible.”
“It was my life and I enjoyed the audiences. Plus, I didn’t know anything different. I want to now.”
“And yet you’re performing in Paris this year?”
“Not on the actual holiday and if you go with me, we can make it special. I can show you Paris.”
“I want to. You know I want to.”
“But?” he prods.
“But we’ll see. I need more time to find Gio.”
“Staying here won’t make him materialize. It will torture you.”
“I know. And I keep feeling like he’s not coming back. Perhaps that’s one of the reasons I know that text wasn’t from him. I’d feel him if he were alive. I know I would.”
“That could be nothing but fear. Let’s get back on topic. Tell me about your holidays.”
“Mine were always traditional until my mother died. Church on Christmas Eve. Gifts on Christmas morning. Since she left us, not so much. Gio spent the last two Christmases in bed with a different woman each year.”
“And you did what?”
“Went to the movies by myself. I haven’t put up a tree in years.”
“I’ve never put up a tree. I’m never home to do it, but this year is different. Starting with Halloween.”
His phone buzzes and he glances down at a message. “We have a delivery on the way up.”
“We?”
“That’s what Steven said.”
“His wife was baking for us. I’m going to need another workout.”
He stands and leans in close, his lips close to mine. “I’ll step up and offer myself up as your next workout.” The security buzzer goes off. “More on your workout soon.” He kisses me and heads to the door.
Smiling, I stand up and load our bowls and cups into the dishwasher, remarkably comfortable in Kace’s home. I believe that’s because I’m remarkably comfortable with him. Kace returns with a bag in hand that reads Jerry and Jenny’s Cookies. “Please tell me they didn’t send us cookies to eat before the cookies this afternoon.”
We convene at the island and he pulls out what appears to be shirts, one pink and one blue. “I do believe we have a uniform for tonight,” he says, holding his up to his chest, for me to read. “Cookies, ghosts, and goblins, oh my!” And there are ghosts and goblins eating cookies.
“That’s cute.” I laugh. “It might not fit your tattooed, leather, and biker boots image, though.”
“But you do, baby, and that’s all that matters.”
“I’m the opposite of leather and tattoos.”
He sets the shirt down and steps into me, his hand branding my hip. “And yet here you are with me. Care to rethink that?”
I offer him a defiant tilt of my chin. “Not at all. If the leather and tattoos are on you, I’m a leather and tattoo girl all the way.”