Page 8 of Butterflies and Hazel Eyes
When we arrived at the building, he had Honey’s desk cleared off and ready for me to use, so I’d been working for the last four hours while Mojo lay under my feet. Every time Gulliver came by to ask me if I needed anything, Mojo gave him the stink eye as if to say,Watch it, pal.
I leaned back in the desk chair and scratched my temple. What I was looking at didn’t make sense. “Gulliver? Are you busy?” I called from where I sat at Honey’s desk.
He arrived in a matter of seconds and grabbed the spare chair to sit next to me. “Nope. What’s shakin,’ bacon?”
I stared at him for an extended period, but he didn’t say anything. “You just called me a pig.”
The expression on his face was questioning. “No, I said, ‘What’s shakin,’ bac—’” He dumped his head into his hands and groaned.
“Exactly,” I said deadpan while trying not to laugh.
He peeked up at me, his cheeks ablaze with color under his tightly-trimmed beard. I was itching to smooth my palm across his cheek to see if it was as soft as it looked. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply you’re a pig. It rhymes, and I was trying to be cute, and—”
I held my hand up to halt his apology. “I was kidding, Gulliver. Man, I’m going to start calling you Gulliver the Gullible.”
His shoulders slumped with relief but stiffened again instantly. “Hey! Did you just call me gullible?”
“If the shoe fits,” I muttered, enjoying our camaraderie. I don’t know why I felt comfortable joking back and forth with him the way I was. I’d only known him a day, but he spoke the same language of fun that I did. We were two souls connected by the commonality of a hard life that would be impossible to bear if you couldn’t find things to laugh about. Usually, when I was on the job, I was alone in a computer room with no one but Mojo to talk to for hours. Let’s face it. He’s not exactly the best conversationalist. Butterfly Junction was different. Gulliver Winsome was different. I was enjoying different.
“Did you call me out here because you needed something or to insult me?” he asked haughtily.
“Because I needed something,” I said, laughing full out. “You distracted me, so it’s your fault.”
He rolled his eyes upward to gaze at the curly head of hair on his head. I had to admit it worked for him. His wavy chestnut locks were haphazardly tossed around his head, either accidentally or on purpose. If it was by accident, he was extremely good at wearing bedhead the right way. “Oh, sure, it’s always the guy’s fault,” he said sarcastically.
I whistled long and low as a warning to him. “Sounds like someone has sour grapes going on here. Did the last girl blame you and then dump you?”
“Who has time to date?” he asked, sticking his tongue out.
The front door opened, and a man stumbled into the reception area. He wore a pin-striped suit with a white dress shirt and a blue tie with white anchors smattered across it. He was lean, fit, and wore a striking pair of blue eyes under a head of blond hair. His tie was hanging open, and I quickly realized his shirt was bloody and the suit was dirty.
“Gulliver,” he said, grabbing for his shoulder before he tipped over.
“Mathias, you’re back,” Gulliver said, turning to the man. “What the hell?” He pulled a chair over, and Mathias sat down gingerly, holding his head in his hand.
“Do you need a doctor?” Gulliver asked, his gaze holding concern for his friend.
“I went to the hospital,” he said, his fingers probing the back of his head. “I had the car drop me off here. Mine has to go into the shop.”
“What car? Were you in an accident?” I asked, and Mathias looked up at me like he had just noticed me for the first time.
Gulliver motioned to me. “Mathias Jørgensen, meet Charity Puck.”
I stuck my hand out just as Mojo stuck his head out. “Nice to meet you, Mathias. Jørgensen. That’s...”
“Danish,” he answered. “My parents are from Denmark.” He glanced down at Mojo and tried to stand, but Gulliver grasped his shoulder to steady him.
“Relax, Mathias. That’s Mojo. He’s chill. Just don’t get too close to Charity and he’ll be your best friend.”
“Especially if you have hot dogs,” I said on a chuckle to ease the tension. “Mathias, I think you should have stayed at the hospital. You don’t look well.”
Mathias swung his head slightly. “No, they released me.”
Gulliver sat next to his friend. “Tell us what happened.”
“I was driving home from my parents’ about midnight. I got caught up helping Far with something,” he explained.
“Far?” I asked, glancing between them.
