Page 109 of Rules to Love By

Marcus crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue. “Said the pot to the kettle.”

“And now you sound like Aunt Iris.”

“Because I finally know what that means.” He pulled his coat on and zipped it up. “Don’t wait up.”

“Don’t forget to text when you get home.”

“Yes, Mama Badger.”

Tris’s laughter followed him out into the chilly night, warming it up considerably.

CHAPTERTWENTY-TWO

He took the first circuit of the block at a quick jog, and almost stopped when he rounded back to the B and B, but changed his mind at the last minute, deciding instead for another circuit. By the time he rounded the last corner, back onto Main Street, he had slowed to a fast walk.

He was winded, but his mind still raced, unstoppable.

The Main Street architecture, among the oldest in the town, at least gave him something to admire as he tried to get his breathing back under control. He passed a small card and comic shop on the corner, followed by a shabby pawn shop in a building that practically cried out for a new tenant. The small office complex that housed a dentist, optometrist and the Main Street Business Council offices was nothing to write home about, but next was another second-hand store, Next Turn, in a carefully restored and cared for Victorian house. A peek in the window showed him neat rows of bins holding vinyl albums and smaller displays of even older records.

Across the street, the Tourist Information Center looked like it had once been a stable, and the rest of the buildings along both sides of the street all had the same air of restored grace, including the one that held Eli’s father’s barbershop, and the old hardware store next to it.

Marcus stopped on the sidewalk in front of the barbershop. It didn’t have one of the brightly lit barber poles, but rather a wooden one with the classic blue, red, and white stripes painted on and the whole thing lit by an overhead lamp focused on it. The sign read “Barber est. 1923” and “Tyrone Benson est. 1984.” The man had been living and working there over thirty years.

Marcus had a hard time wrapping his head around that sort of longevity. His aunt was the only person he knew who had lived anyplace longer than a couple of years.

Glancing up past the store front to the windows above, he noticed that all the lights were out. Of course, Mr. Benson would likely have early-morning clients to tend to, and Eli had been out as long as Marcus had the day and night before. It shouldn’t surprise him they were in bed.

Unless Eli had gone back to the city. After a quick glance around, though, he spotted Eli’s truck parked on the curb across the street, in front of a grassy lot.

“Hey.” The voice drifted down from above, making Marcus look back up into the darkness above the barbershop.

A faint glow appeared, quickly resolving itself into the small square of a phone screen that revealed Eli’s distinctive broad smile.

“Hey.” Marcus waved up at him.

“Second time around the block,” Eli observed.

“You watching the neighbourhood?”

“Come up here.”

Marcus stared up at him. Even in the small amount of light cast by his phone, he looked good. Enticing. “Why?”

“So I don’t have to yell down into the street like a barbarian.”

Marcus laughed. “And how, exactly, would I get up there?”

“Fire escape.” Eli motioned towards the side of the house next to the hardware store with his phone. “Chop-chop.”

Tilting his head to one side, Marcus gazed up at him. “That an order or something?” He tried to keep the strange lightness of hope filling the spaces of his chest out of his voice.

Eli straightened from where he’d been leaning on the railing. “You need it to be?” Despite the distance, the low rumble of his tone carried.

Marcus examined the question. Did he?No, of course not. That was insane.And yet his chest expanded more easily than it had all day, and the unease in his stomach, that he’d all but dismissed as normal, settled. He stared up at Eli.

“Well?” Eli asked, more gentle than commanding.

“I don’t feel like punching you,” he conceded.

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