Page 34 of Four Weekends and a Funeral

“It can’t be that bad.” He peers into my mug.

“No, the idea is good, but that’s truly heinous. Try it.” I push my mug across the counter.

“Why would I drink something bad?”

“I can’t be the only person in this apartment made to suffer.” I nudge my mug toward him with one finger.

“All right. All right.” Adam cautiously places his lips on my mug and takes a slow sip. He swallows, and I wait an eternity for his verdict. “I’m getting the hint of antifreeze you mentioned.”

Triumph rises in my body and plays across my face. “See!”

Adam’s eyes crease from the smile he’s withholding. The tip of his tongue runs between his lips, and an unexpected ribbon of heat twirls through my insides.

“I feel like I can taste the color green. Did you get that?” he asks, oblivious to whatever is happening beneath my surface.

I clear my throat. “Uh, yes. Aren’t you glad we both have the shared trauma of tasting a color?”

He chases the sickly-sweet sip with his mug of black coffee. “Enough taste testing. I need you to hold the flashlight while I replace the faucet.”

“You couldn’t find a loose child in the hallway to help you?”

“I don’t lure children into apartments I’m working on,” he retorts.

I roll up the sleeves of my white top and hop down from my stool. “All right, Berg. Let’s do this.”

•••

Adam lies face up with his head in the vanity, his bent leg jiggling restlessly. I crouch next to him, wielding my flashlight like a weapon.

I feel my leg bump his torso and make the devastating error of looking down at the point of contact. His light gray thermal is pulled up, exposing a small strip of skin over the top of his jeans. My pulse sputters, and I avert my eyes back to the pipes. It’s too late. Every cell in my body is off-balance.

“So why are we replacing the sink?” I ask, because I need the distraction.

“The faucet—and because it needs to be replaced.”

“Isn’t this a bit above and beyond the call of duty? I thought they wanted us to pack up Sam’s stuff.”

“If we only pack everything up, his family will still have so much to do and…” His voice trails off, and I wish desperately that I could see his face. He swallows. “If I’d known Sam needed his faucet fixed, I would have fixed it. So I’m doing it now.”

I nod, knowing exactly what he means. I’ve driven Chelsea to the airport at four a.m. and moved Mara into a fifth-floor walk-up, and I’d hide a body for either of them if they asked. Whatever issues they might have had, Sam and Adam were that kind of friends. That doesn’t just go away.

“You’re doing it now? As if I’m not a crucial member of this operation? Is this flashlight floating above you in thin air?” I tease, hoping to lighten the mood. He bumps his knee against mine, and I topple backward onto the white tile floor. “Just for that, I quit. You can lure a child in here for the rest of the job.”

“Alison.” His voice frowns.

“Fine, fine.” I click the light back on.

Adam loosens and tightens various pipe parts, but I’m too aware of our proximity to pay attention. I’m hovering over him. A light breeze would send me into his lap.

“Do you do this stuff at work?” I ask. More distractions.

“No. In my own house.” He adjusts his head under the sink, and I catch a glimpse of his eyes, sharp with concentration.

“Ooh. Homeownership. Brag.”

He twists his wrench, biting the tip of his tongue as he works.

I bite my own tongue without thinking. I’ve captured a small part of him he wouldn’t have shown me—the embarrassing concentration face. Something sugary sweet melts in my belly at the thought.

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