Page 78 of Rules to Love By

“Fucking hellsticks.”

It didn’t matter. He couldn’t get the answers, because he couldn’t get inside.

And in his heart, he knew he probably didn’t want them, because based on what he knew of Johnathan, he already knew what he would find.

Glancing around, he recalled what this room had looked like only five days ago. Before it had been dreary. As soon as he’d applied the first coats of red for the diamond pattern, he’d known it to be the right choice.

Just like he’d known restoring the countertop and stools at the diner was the right choice, over replacing them. And not only because replacing them would be more costly, but because the diner had been all about steadfast honesty. About showing its truth even if that truth was a little threadbare, a little broken. At least it was real.

Marcus sighed. “I hate when he’s right.”

Around him, the shop sighed softly.

“Don’t you start too,” he warned it.

A stair creaked, and the lights flickered in the mirrors, though the bulbs in the fixtures around them hadn’t.

“Gee. No idea why people don’t like hanging out alone in old places.”

If a building could laugh, this one did, and just for an instant, Marcus caught the scent of shaving cream and a glimpse of a cozy room populated with a half dozen middle-aged men in suspenders, lounging and content.

Then the orange streetlight glow returned, and Marcus decided it had been a long enough day. He hurriedly cleaned up, locked the door behind him and Emma, following her towards the B and B.

The trek across the lawns between the barbershop and the B and B was short, but still chilly in nothing but his henley and torn jeans. Overhead, the branches of the oak trees loomed, their last clinging leaves from the year before rattling with a skin-crawling lack of rhythm. He glanced up, but there was nothing to see in the gathering dark except the darker trace work of branches against the overcast sky, almost like the trees were reaching across the open space to get to each other.

Shivering, Marcus ducked into the back door of the B and B and closed it firmly behind him.

“Well, there you are.” Kreed wiped his hands on his apron before grabbing a pot of noodles and draining the water off into the sink. “I was beginning to wonder if I needed to set a plate aside for you. You almost missed dinner service.”

“Where’s Tris?”

Kreed grunted at him as he pointed at a stool. “Sit.”

“I’m good.”

“Sit.” He clunked a heavy stoneware plate in the spot, along with a napkin-wrapped bundle of utensils.

“God, you people are relentless.” But he sat, because the sauce did smell pretty awesome.

“We try.” Kreed dumped a portion of pasta onto the plate, following it up with a ladle full of sauce replete with meatballs, mushrooms and chunks of other vegetables. A smaller plate with garlic toast soon fallowed.

Marcus finished most of the food before either of them said anything.

“So.” Kreed cleared his plate and utensils, keeping his back to Marcus as he loaded them into the dishwasher.

“So.”

“I know you and Tris are friends. You’ve known him longer than we have.”

“Here it comes.”

“Sorry?” Kreed turned to frown at him.

“I know I messed up, okay? I lost it for a sec and I raised my voice. I know better with him. I shouldn’t have done that. I already apologised.”

Kreed held up both hands. “I know you know. Because you know him. So does he. And still, you raised your voice, so that has to mean something big enough is going on in your head to cause that lapse. I’m not here to lecture you about being nice to your friend. You’re a grown-up. I’m asking what’s got you so twisted up you did something you would never do if you were thinking straight?”

“Wait, so you didn’t stay back here to lecture me about Tris. You stayed to ask me what’s wrong?”

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