Page 30 of The Cartographer

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I slept inHart’s bed last night. It wasn’t exactly what I’d call pleasant because he’s not a small man and has a tendency to starfish, but getting to be so close to him for such a long period of time while he was unguarded was worth it. This morning, when he snuck out of bed early, I let him go without saying a word, without letting him know I was awake at all. If he wants to steal out after last night’s activities, that’s fine. I figure I have a better shot of being with him again if we don’t have a heap of awkwardness in the morning.

I shower and dress, taking my time because I’ve got a full day ahead of me even though my morning’s unscheduled. Shirt and tie on nonetheless because that’s what I always wear to work. Even shoes so Matthew doesn’t get after me.

When I’m well and ready, I head downstairs, bracing myself for the disappointment of finding Matthew at his desk, working away, and him telling me Hart left a long time ago. That would be fine, truly. As I descend, however, some ridiculous optimism tricks me into hearing voices in the kitchen. Surely Matthew’s just listening to music? But no.

Hart’s sitting at the breakfast bar with a half-eaten…what I think is a breakfast burrito resting on his plate next to fruit salad and hash browns. He and Matthew both turn my way when I walk in, and I have to hide my hopeful smile. I could get used to this, but I shouldn’t.

“Good morning, Hart, Matthew.”

They both mumble a good morning, and when Matthew catches my eye, I point toward Allie’s plate to say I’ll have what he’s having. Looks good, smells even better. As if to prove it, Hart scoops up the rolled tortilla, takes a huge bite, and makes a borderline obscene noise.

“Matty makes a phenomenal burrito. I might start coming here for breakfast every morning.”

I smile, my mouth a bit tight because I’m holding back the words:you’re welcome to. Matthew would probably appreciate it. He enjoys cooking, and I travel too much for him to do it as much as he’d like. Not to mention I don’t eat much when I’m at home. A hazard of eating out so much on the road—I prefer healthy, small meals while at home. This one morning I’ll indulge, though. That’s what it is to sit with these two, listen to them talk. It’s nice to have another voice in the house, someone neither of us knows so well they don’t have to voice what they want or what they think because we already know.

By the end of the meal, I’m tempted to offer to drive Hart to wherever he’d like to go, but the truth is I don’t have time for that. While I’m not above rescheduling things, I have a feeling this client really needs me. He’s not always good at saying so, not over the phone, but he’ll cop to it in person. Can’t cancel. So it’s with regret that I hand my Hart off to Matthew, though there’s no one else I trust more to take care of him.

Before I have to say goodbye entirely, I stop Hart in the hallway and slip something into his hand when we shake our farewell.

Naturally, Hart’s got to wrinkle up his nose and hold the thing up in the air as though he’s bringing evidence in a murder trial. “What the fuck is this?”

“It’s a key.”

“Yeah, I got that, but—”

“It’s a key to my house, and if you ever find yourself inebriated or not wanting to cram yourself into the back of your truck for any reason, please feel free to use it. The room you stayed in last night will always be ready for you.”

He looks like he’s going to protest again, so I dig deep. What is going to make him take this fucking key? Which is the first step to him actuallyusingsaid key, a process I can only imagine will be excruciating and take for goddamn ever. One step at a time.

“Hey, even if you never use it, at least take it as a gesture? If you ever find yourself in a jam, it’d be easier to crash here than bother Kendra and the kids, right?”

Allie shakes his head and plays at exasperated, then rolls his eyes and sighs while he pockets the thing. “Whatever, dude.”

The same chime of satisfaction pings in my brain, and it’s that small dose of my favorite drug that keeps my smile from turning into a grimace as I watch him walk out the door with Matthew.

Chapter Ten

‡

Ican’t sayI’m surprised Hart’s symbol I’ve made for him pops up on my cell screen a few days later. I’d been hoping he’d call but worried he wouldn’t. He’s had more time to think about the fact that my life is kink and he doesn’t think he’s into “that, uh, stuff,” and it wasn’t while I was distracting him with the head of his life.

Absurd. Thinking about it makes me roll my eyes, but it’s best to leave people some space around these things, let them come to you instead of reeling them in like a fish on a hook. Especially a man like Hart.

I answer the phone as I would for anyone else, confident he won’t be wasted at…the watch India gave me for my birthday last year says quarter after eleven. Which means, much as I’d like to take the time to chat with Allie, no can do. I’ve got a client in an hour, and I have to go to them. Fuck do I hate driving out to Silicon Valley. Maybe I’ll have Matthew drive me…

“What can I do for you, Hart?”

“You can mind your own goddamn business you manipulative, meddling son of a bitch.”

Ah. Perhaps I’ve miscalculated. I lean back in my office chair, crossing an ankle over a knee and rubbing the bridge of my nose.

“First, I’m rather attached to my mother, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t disparage her. She’s quite lovely. I’m sure you’d like her if you met her.”

Yes, she and Hart would get along well. Once he got past the Chanel suit she’d probably be wearing and the perfectly coiffed hair and manicured nails, anyway. Likely both would give me crap until I turned into a twitchy pile of gelatin, and then they’d love me up until I forgave them. Note to self: never let those two into the same room. Although judging by how ticked off Hart sounds, it’s unlikelyI’llbe finding myself in the same room as him anytime soon, if ever again.

“Second, I’ll cop to the manipulative, but I prefer the term managing. Sounds less…evil. I can assure you my intentions are entirely magnanimous. Third, meddling makes me sound like someone’s nosey grandmother. Might we go with officious instead?”

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