Page 64 of The Checklist
“By all accounts. I rarely hear from her. She is more of a call-when-she-needs-something kind of person,” Dylan said, around the straw in her water glass.
“So you know she is doing well since she hasn’t called.” Mike smiled, leaning toward her on his elbow. He had never really leaned away after the chef had started singing. The thought of the chef brought Dylan back to the room. He was no longer behind the spotless bar. Glancing around, she caught sight of the staff quietly sweeping under empty tables and chairs, trying as best they could to discreetly pack up for the night. Her eyes darted to her phone; it was well past ten, and they hadn’t even touched her donor list. As if her eyeing the room were a signal, Mike straightened his posture and looked around, alert for the first time in hours.
“I don’t know where the time went. We didn’t even look over the list,” Dylan said, stretching up, aware of Mike’s gaze following the lines of her arms toward the ceiling. She wasn’t the least bit disappointed they hadn’t talked business, but for the sake of propriety she added a pout to her tone.
“Not my most productive meeting but certainly the most fun. We should probably go before these poor people are trapped here all night,” he said, passing the server some cash. They stood, and he held Dylan’s coat for her. “If you don’t mind staying out, we could find a coffee spot that is open late and finish up.”
“You mean get started?” Dylan asked, slinking into her coat and placing the list in her handbag.
“I mean, ten thirty is my bedtime, but for you, I can make an exception. Maybe stay up till eleven fifteen.”
“Ten thirty? And here I thought that sweater was just for show. Turns out you are an old man.” Dylan smiled and began weaving her way toward the door, conscious of the movement of her hips as she swayed around tables and chairs. “I like the sound of coffee.”
“Good. I think the Tabby Cat is open late. My place is around the corner. We can grab my car and drive over. It isn’t super far, but I don’t think we want to walk this late.”
Feeling Mike reach past her elbow to open the door, Dylan turned. “If your place is around the corner, why don’t we just go there? Unless you are secretly a tea drinker or something?” She tried to make the suggestion sound like a logical conclusion as opposed to what it actually was—a casing of the joint. Dylan was dying to know what Mike Robinson’s man cave looked like.
“Of course I have coffee. I’m not a monster.”
“Fine. Your place it is,” she said, smiling at the server who was hanging back to lock the door behind them. The woman winked, and it took all of Dylan’s inconsiderable stealth not to wink back. She hadn’t started the evening on a date, but whether or not Mike knew it, they were on one now.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Dylan spent the entire walk over praying Mike’s house wasn’t covered in black IKEA furniture and college posters. That would have spoiled the magic of the entire evening. Now, standing in front of an old brick building, she reasoned that nothing this classic could house the sad remnants of a man clinging to his glory days. Once she thought about it, if the sweater was any indication, he might have skipped over the postcollege man-child phase altogether. After twisting the key in the lock, Mike held the door open.
“After you. I’m on the fourth floor.”
The building was old enough that Dylan didn’t bother looking for the elevator. Instead, she crossed the black-and-white-checkered tile floor toward the worn mahogany staircase and started the climb toward his apartment. Dylan liked to think that spin class kept her in decent cardiovascular shape, but by the second floor she was starting to sweat under her trench coat. Looking for something to take her mind off the endurance event that was getting to Mike’s apartment, she caught sight of a gaudy red-and-gold door wreath with something that looked suspiciously like a papier-mâché unicorn one floor above them.
“What is that?” Dylan asked as they rounded the stairs to the top landing.
“Hmmm?” Mike asked, turning his focus from the key in his hand to the door she was pointing at. “Oh, that is Mrs.Warnly’s good luckornament. She makes them. Even gave one to me for the holidays last year. I have yet to display it.” Mike smiled wryly as he turned the handle.
“At least you have one neighbor who likes you and wants good things for you.” Dylan shrugged up at him with a hint of mischief.
“Even if those good things are pretty dreadful looking,” Mike whispered as they walked in. Dylan shivered. His presence felt like the movement of the earth around the sun. An unavoidable truth, drawing her in. Intentionally shifting her thoughts, she moved into the entryway, giving Mike room to hit the lights and toss his keys on a hook by the door.
“Welcome,” he said, stepping out of his shoes and placing them on a rack hanging on the back of the hallway closet door. As if he had been reading her mind, Mike began to carefully unfasten the buttons of his sweater, furthering Dylan’s sexy Mr.Rogers fantasy. Slowly, he peeled off his sweater to reveal a white undershirt stretched across his chest, hugging the curves of his shoulders, leaving his biceps exposed as he hung up the sweater.
Subconsciously, Dylan knew she was staring. She knew this was rude, and she was certain she didn’t care. His back was to her, and it wasn’t like her mouth was open. At least, she hoped it wasn’t, since he chose that moment to turn around. He held her gaze for a beat before tilting his head like he was studying a curious artifact.
“You doing okay?”
“Totally fine.” Dylan felt the heat in his stare radiating in her cheeks and looked around the narrow hallway for something to feign interest in. How was she this awkward? Sure, she hadn’t been on a date for the better part of a decade, but this was someone she knew well. She didn’t need to be nervous. Giving herself a shake to refocus, she pulled the soy sauce–spotted list from her bag and shrugged off her coat. Slipping out of her heels, she sighed with the relief that came with taking off dress shoes at the end of the day. “Feels good to take those off after all those stairs. Must be how you stay in shape.”
Mike laughed. “I suspect that has more to do with the jogging. I usually take the elevator, but you seemed pretty gung ho on the stairs, so I just went with it.”
“There’s an elevator?”
“The door is built into the staircase.” Mike chuckled as he padded down the hall into the living room. “I’ll start the coffee. Make yourself at home.”
“I thought this was the sort of fancy old place that only had a dumbwaiter. I may have been in heels, but I wasn’t about to try to squeeze all of me into a two-foot box,” Dylan called, her eyes following him to the kitchen.
“Wouldn’t have judged if you had tried it. Four flights of stairs is a lot of stairs,” Mike chuckled over the rattle of dishes and the closing of cupboard doors.
Dylan allowed the apartment to draw her attention away from the kitchen. There was not a shred of obvious collegiate furniture or paraphernalia in sight. In fact, the place had a distinctly grown-man vibe. He had painted the walls a warm shade of Bermuda gray that made the room feel relaxed. A sensation only enhanced by the oversize chocolate-brown sofa and armchairs. In place of a coffee table, he had a battered wooden trunk covered in a stack of about three weeks’ worth ofSundayTimesback issues and a few junk mail catalogs doubling as coasters.
“So this is where you live,” she said, wandering deeper into the space as the smell of coffee crept from the kitchen. “It feels so grown up.”
