Page 39 of Perfect Pitch

“Absolutely not.” My answer is clear and succinct and a damned lie. My uncle is in better shape at seventy than most of the agents in the ops room at Hudson.

“That’s a mistake many have made before,” he replies, amused.

Having seen him in action, I give in. “True.” But then I tack on devilishly, “You just suffer longer for it.”

“Well, don’t we have a stick up our ass tonight, Mitchell. Care to share why?”

Spying Kane relaxing comfortably, I decide well, why the hell not. I launch into a quick overview of my date with Austyn summarizing with, “She’s funny, beautiful.”

“And what’s the problem with that?” the old badger demands.

“Nothing. I enjoyed our evening...”

“How much?” Charlie jumps in.

I roll my eyes. “A proper amount.”

“What the hell does that mean?” The irritation clouding Charlie’s voice is clear as the lights in Times Square. I continue to avoid his interrogation.

“I like her, Charlie. How could I not?” I think about how natural it felt to be with Austyn and can’t help my lips from curving. Any sort of first date tension flew out the window the minute our fish course was delivered. “She’s incredibly smart, full of sass, and determined.”

“Then why do you sound like I just ran over your favorite Glock with my truck?”

I cough to hide my laugh at his analogy, but my uncle leaps on my well-being as if I was the one who lived with him instead of Trevor. “Did you get a cold from swapping spit with my girl?”

“Swapping spit?” I can’t prevent the chortle that escapes.

Pain evident, he questions, “Do we need to have a conversation about the birds and the—‍”

“God, no! Stay far, far away from that topic.” I shudder.

“Good. Good. Let’s do that.”

“So, you care, why?” I decide to cut to the chase.

“I called because while you’re out, the beautiful woman—the first woman you’ve asked out in forever since for some reason the female population is hell-bent on making damn fools of themselves over you—is home sucking down ice cream with your brother. I became concerned.”

My chest aches at the thought I left Austyn hurting. Then suspiciously, I demand, “Have you taken up a new hobby in your retirement?”

“What’s that?”

“Matchmaking?”

He guffaws. “Can’t you just see it?” Then he barks out in the voice that used to direct orders as a SEAL team commander, “You, you. Dinner. Dance. Babies. Move on out!”

As laughter rings out, I press a hand against the car to keep myself upright. “Jesus, Charlie. You’re too much.”

“And you need to be more demonstrative to that little girl if you want her in your life.” Charlie cuts to the heart of the matter with a lightning-fast subject change.

“That’s the problem right there.”

“What? Her age? Age is an issue of mind over matter. I rather think I don’t act my age,” Charlie informs me loftily.

“And Mark Twain’s quote concludes, ‘If you don’t mind, it doesn’t matter.’ That doesn’t always apply to our century. When he was alive, they didn’t have laws about dating someone underage.”

Charlie sighs. “She’s not that young, Mitchell.”

“Just how young is she?” I grind out.

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