Page 32 of Set Fire to This Cardhouse

“There’s a pool at my hotel,” Mike says, apropos of nothing. Toby snaps his gaze from the panel to Mike’s face, noting the cautious tilt to his lips, his upper body angled away just slightly.

“A pool,” Toby repeats. “That’s nice. That’s very, very nice for you. I’m glad.” He pauses. “I thought you were going to look for an apartment? I mean, feel free to throw money at overpriced hotel rooms, be my guest. Good to support the local economy and all. Fair warning, though, that I won’t be paying extra for your soy milk when you run out of money.”

Mike’s grin is quick to shine and slow to fade. “Where’s your heart, Toby?”

Toby’s heart is right there, skipping half a beat just because Mike lowered his voice to a teasing murmur that could, by all rights, be interpreted as flirting. Hopefully, continuous exposure will breed immunity—that’s the concept of immunodesensitization, isn’t it? Lessen the impact of an overreaction by means of repeated and increasing exposure.

“My heart,” Toby states with dignity, “is just fine, thank you. But soy milk does not belong in coffee. Neither does almond milk. Neither does cinnamon, for that matter. It’s unnatural, is what it is.”

“You’re particularly judgmental today.” Mike sounds amused, even a little fond, and it pulls Toby up short.

“It’s Monday. It’s Monday, and my supposed free afternoon with my niece just turned into planning a ramble through the jungle when there are still unpacked boxes in my apartment that I haven’t even touched. So yes, I will spend the rest of the day judging everyone and everything. Deal with it.”

The elevator dings to a halt. Toby exits first, head held high and stomach heavy with having to disappoint Haley, yet again.

“A ramble through the jungle,” Mike mutters, still with that thread of amusement woven through his voice. He follows Toby out. “Anyway. My point stands: there’s a pool at my hotel. It tends to be empty during the day.”

“And this is relevant how?” Toby asks although maybe, just maybe he’s beginning to understand the roundabout logic at play. He doesn’t want to jump to conclusions, though.

Mike gives him a look that toes the line of insulting. “You’re not an idiot.”

“Oh, the jury’s still out.”

Another look.

“Fine.” Stopping in front of the break room, Toby spreads his hands. He makes sure there’s no one nearby and keeps his voice low. “I’d love it if I didn’t have to cancel. Honestly, I would. And if she splashes around some fancy hotel pool while we find a quiet corner to discuss Ecuador—yeah. It’d be nice.” It would also mean breaking about seven different rules, but who’s counting? “Are you sure you don’t mind, though? I love her, but she can be a handful.”

“I like kids,” Mike says with an easy shrug, like it means nothing. “Don’t get a lot of chances to interact with them, so I can’t claim I’ll be great at it, but I’m sure we’ll be fine. Did I mention there’s a whirlpool?”

He likes kids. Well, fuck everything—Toby might as well just lay down his weapons because clearly there’s no point in him trying to pretend he doesn’t like Mike, and anyway, it’s not like Toby couldn’t use more friends.

So. This is fine. Probably.

“Her name” —Toby glances up and down the corridor, at the row of closed doors— “is Haley.”

Mike’s smile lights up his entire face. “Haley,” he repeats, like it’s a secret for just the two of them.

***

It’s no mystery why Mike chose to reside in this particular hotel: in addition to a fitness center and a pool, they rent out so-called workout rooms that come equipped with a treadmill. Guests who wake up at an ungodly hour only need to roll out of bed, flick on the TV, and it’s off to the races.

“You,” Toby says after one look at the room behind Mike, “have a problem, my friend.”

Mike frowns and glances over his shoulder as though he’s trying to solve a riddle.

“Addiction!” Toby gestures at the room. “Who needs to wake up to the sight of a treadmill? An addict, that’s who. There are programs for that, you know?”

“You work out,” is Mike’s answer.

“I don’t fall asleep after saying good night to a treadmill.”

“It’s just convenient, is all,” Mike says, and there’s a moment when Toby wonders if Mike is happy here, whether the circles under his eyes hint that he’s not sleeping all that well. None of Toby’s business.

Mike’s gaze slides past Toby to Haley, trailing behind with her attention taken up by the new dolphin trainer Barbie she got from Matt this morning—a transparent attempt to make up for how much of his time is currently devoted to clients. Making a name for oneself as a financial consultant is hard work, Toby would never doubt that, but he wishes Matt didn’t try to buy Haley’s understanding with presents; it sets a bad example.

But then, Toby’s not her father. On the other hand, his responsibility as an older brother comes with a certain obligation to know everything better all the time.

“Mike, meet Haley.” Toby waves a hand, and it’s automatic, the way his voice softens, brightens. “Haley, Princess, that’s a beautiful Barbie—all that long blonde hair, and with the pink bikini, truly fantastic. Now, say hello to my friend Mike, please. Or do I need to have a word with your dad about the kind of manners he teaches you?”

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