Page 65 of The Checklist
“Thanks,” Mike called as the coffee maker sputtered.
Dylan walked toward a delicate glass dining set to look at his art. On one end of the dining table was a large vintage opera poster; on the other was an abstract piece composed of broad, romantic brushstrokes with grayish undertones and a warm streak of berry red running through it.
“I got lucky. I found this antiquing with my mom.”
Mike’s voice grew less muffled, and she turned to find him holding a mug out toward her.
“Thank you,” Dylan said as Mike passed her the steaming mug. “I didn’t know Linda was into antiquing.”
Mike laughed, the sound as warm as the coffee in her hand. “It was a short-lived phase. Mom was an amateur collector, but Ma is a professional declutterer.”
“Sounds like Patricia. I bet there was never a week where my dad didn’t try to raid your trash when y’all weren’t home.”
“Oh, he did it while we were home too.” Mike smiled at this, as if he was letting her peek inside the Robinson family dynamic. “My parents act annoyed, but a small part of them likes to see what he can do with junk. Did you want cream or sugar?”
“Cream, please.”
“Your parents are quite talented. I hope you know how much I admire their work,” Mike said, turning to walk back to the kitchen.
“You have no idea how nice that is to hear.”
Careful to follow at a distance, Dylan did her best not to stare at his walk, then deposited herself on the couch. Leaning forward to peruse the newspaper stack, she caught sight of her electric-yellow toenails and froze. She had forgotten all about them until now. Their eerie smiles grinning at her as if they knew the game. After checking to see if the coast was clear, Dylan stood up and tucked her knees under her. Sitting on her feet was tricky in a pencil skirt, and she listed to one side, pulse fluttering at the sound of Mike closing the refrigerator. Using the trunk, she pushed herself upright with enough force to leave her slumped against the back of the couch, her knees hanging off the edge but her feet safely under her, as Mike returned, clutching creamer and a package of cookies.
“I love your place. It feels like a not-creepy gentlemen’s smoking club,” Dylan said, gesturing widely with the arm that wasn’t pinnedto the side of the couch, as if sprawling on his furniture were perfectly natural.
“Glad to know my house feels like the good kind of boys’ club,” he laughed, placing the creamer and pack of cookies on the middle of the trunk, next to the old newspapers and the list she had left there.
“If it were even close to the creepy kind, I’d have hiked back down that Mount Everest of stairs. Somehow I can’t picture you being a creepy-club kind of guy.”
“I’ll take the compliment.” Mike’s smile was lopsided. “Cookie before we dive in?”
For a brief moment, Dylan considered forgoing both the cookies and the creamer, but then she noticed the name on the package—Tim Tam. Leaning forward, she bunny hopped to the center of the couch, careful to keep her feet stowed beneath her. Mike’s smile spread into a full-blown grin as she came to a halt facing him and reached out for a cookie.
“I love these,” Dylan said, ignoring the question written on his face as she took a bite.
Mike raised an eyebrow and nodded at her knees. Dylan chose to ignore this, too, adding creamer to her coffee instead. Turning back to Mike, she leveled what she hoped was a charming, who-me smile. Shaking his head, Mike said, “Fine, you don’t have to explain,” and picked up a cookie. “I became obsessed with these while studying abroad in Australia during undergrad.”
“Does studying abroad in Australia really count?” Dylan asked, reaching for another cookie.
“More than a semester at sea does,” Mike laughed, then added, “which is to say, barely. But I did have a good time wasting a semester and not learning another language.”
“Fair enough. I didn’t go anywhere in undergrad, so what do I know?” Dylan giggled.
“You learned to live in Texas; that feels pretty foreign to me.”
“Well, more foreign than a semester at sea, anyway.”
“So we can both agree that a semester at sea is a party boat?”
“Absolutely.”
Mike grabbed another cookie and dunked it in his coffee. He crammed the whole soggy mess in his mouth in one massive bite, chuckling at his own lack of grace. “That was a display of basically everything I learned in Aus.” Grabbing the list, he added, “Shall we get started?”
“By all means,” Dylan said, hop-scooting closer to see the list. Mike did not move the paper between the two of them, so she leaned into him to see the names. Even at her ridiculous angle, she was aware of how close they were, her knees gently nudging the muscle in his thigh as she crossed him. Her copy was safely stored in her bag, and she silently thanked the gods of surprise dates that she hadn’t mentioned it earlier in the night.
“You know these people?”
“Or know people who know them,” Dylan hedged, cautious of committing too much to a few of Deep’s more ambitious Google additions. Brandt had begged her to add Tim, but after his last escapade with philanthropy, Dylan had decided that her instincts were right. He could humiliate himself on the charity scene without her help.
