Page 18 of Again with Feeling

Silence.

A single, nervously high giggle escaped Millie before she clamped a hand over her mouth.

Keme pulled up his hood and appeared to die quietly of secondhand embarrassment.

Fox fixed their gaze in the middle distance.

But worst of all was Indira, who stretched across the table to PAT MY HAND.

And Bobby looked like he was dedicating all his considerable skill to keeping his face expressionless.

“Are you guys kidding me?” I asked.

“Don’t answer that,” Bobby said in what sounded like his official deputy voice. Then his face changed, and he pulled out his phone. He read whatever was on the screen and said something that they definitely don’t teach you in preschool, and then he nudged me to let him out of the booth.

“What’s up?” I asked as I slid out.

“I forgot,” he said. “I’m late.”

“Forgot what?”

“IS IT ANOTHER DATE?” Millie asked.

The music changed. It was Taylor Swift, which I felt was a stretch for Country Night, but I was too focused on Bobby’s sudden departure to notice which song.

“I’ll see you guys later,” Bobby said. He gave the back of my head a quick scruff, almost pulling me into a hug, and then, with a wave for everyone else, he darted toward the door.

As I settled back into the booth, Fox said, “He’s certainly in a hurry.”

“Millie’s right,” I said. “Probably another hot date with another new guy. And we’ll have to pretend to remember his name. And then, in another week, it’ll be someone else.”

Indira and Fox exchanged looks. Millie and Keme exchanged looks.

“What?” I asked.

Indira patted my hand again and said to Fox, “Could you give me a ride home?”

“Of course,” Fox said. “Keme?”

The boy glanced at Millie, but she shook her head. “I’ve got to get home and pack up a couple of pieces I sold on Etsy.”

Keme cocked his head.

“No, I don’t need any help,” Millie answered. “But thank you.”

Keme looked like he was scrambling to come up with another, equally valid reason they should spend more time together.

With a little breath of a laugh, Fox caught his arm and said, “Come on.”

The four of them left after settling up, and I paid my tab—and Bobby’s, which was totally fair since if you counted all the donuts he brought me, I owed him alotof money. I thought about ordering another drink—a gimlet, maybe. The thought surprised me, since it was one of those old-fashioned drinks that I associated with Chandler and Hammett and the like. At one point in my life, those had been my drinks of choice, but since moving to Hastings Rock, I’d found myself…branching out.

Only now, for some reason, a gimlet was on my mind. A noir drink for a noir night, I thought, which sounded too melodramatic even for me—but also, true. Because to my own surprise, my mood had soured. I couldn’t put my finger on why, but it had. I thought about the look on Bobby’s face when he read the message on his phone. The way he’d bumped his hip against mine to get me moving out of the booth. Those strong fingers running through my hair—the gesture playful, but also familiar. Maybe I did know why, I thought. Maybe that’s why I wanted a gimlet.

Instead, though, I did the responsible thing: I got in the Jeep and started home. The night was chilly and damp, and although the sky was clear, I already knew the fog belt would be thick, and driving home meant heading straight into a world that became directionless, claustrophobic, a thousand shifting currents of gray that sparked to life in the headlights, with only the occasional silhouette of Sitka spruce and lodgepole pine to anchor the world. Normally, I loved the coast and the coolweather and the fog. It activated that innermost, geekiest part of me that loved haunted mansions and crumbling castles and, yes, werewolves and vampires. And maybe the moors? But maybe that was just because I had a crush on Heathcliff inWuthering Heights.

I was so caught up in my thoughts that I didn’t notice Bobby’s Pilot until I was driving past it. The SUV was parked in the gravel lot of an apartment complex—in the dark, it was hard to tell the color of the shiplap siding, but it was blue or gray or blue-gray or something that might have been called “pewter tankard” on a paint swatch. The complex was only a few buildings, all of them unremarkable. I’d driven past them countless times on my way to and from Hastings Rock, and I’d never given them a second look. Until now. When Bobby’s car was parked there.

He's on a date, I thought. And my body’s reaction was a flush that sent pins and needles to my chest, my neck, my face. I didn’t even have to think about whatkindof date it was. Or why Bobby had been in such a hurry. Or why he’d already be at the other guy’s apartment. I mean, not that I was a prude. I’d hooked up with strangers before. Okay, I’d thought about hooking up with strangers before. Okay, Iwouldhave hooked up with strangers, except the one time I tried, I got so nervous that I had to pull over and puke on the side of the road, and I ended up messaging the guy (because of course I did, because I couldn’t just ghost him) and telling him I couldn’t, um, do adult stuff with him because I’d just watchedJurassic Park IIIand I was upset about how bad it had been.

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