Page 29 of A Much Younger Man
“C’mon.” Neither of us spoke as I led him to my house, which did nothing to assuage the guilty feeling I had that I was ignoring basic common sense.
What if he gets the wrong idea? Or the right one?
What if he knows exactly what’s been on your mind?
You’re playing with fire.
We made our way up the street that eventually led to my house, and I stopped.
“This is me.”
He took in my little craftsman house with its wide, well-lit porch and wicker chairs and charm and said, “Nice.”
I smiled. “Thanks.”
Through friend and real estate agent Ken, I’d purchased the place from a family trust. Whoever had lived there before hadn’t changed a thing since the fifties. I’d gutted the place and given it a clean contemporary look by opening up the walls between the kitchen, dining, and living rooms. The décor was a little on the nautical side. I took some ribbing from my friends over that, but my tiny bungalow-by-the-sea suited me perfectly.
I unlocked the screen door and let Beck and Callie inside.
The minute I turned on the light, Rico Suave came to life with what—for him—was an explosive cry. “You ruineverything!”
To say Rico was unusually gifted was an understatement. In my experience, cockatiels enjoyed mimicking sounds more than saying actual words. But Rico could and did talk often. I put his talent down to his first owner, a Hollywood animal trainer. I’d gotten Rico when his owner went to prison for trafficking exotic animals on the black market.
I sighed. “This is it. Home sweet home.”
