“My pleasure,” he says in a mild tone. “Do you need help putting them away?”
“No. I think I got it.”
He nods. “Is there something you want to do later today?”
I want to treat him to something nice, but I doubt that’ll happen. He wouldn’t let me pay for my own clothes. I don’t think he’s going to let me pay for a nice meal out. I should think about what I can do for him—and how to arrange it so he doesn’t end up putting it on his credit card.
“How about…staying in for a movie?” I suggest, since that seems like the most benign activity. “I’ll pick something, if that’s okay.”
He looks slightly pained for a second, then goes back to his typical impassivity. “That’s fine.”
Once the door closes behind him, I smile a little. From the wince, he probably thinks I’m going to force him to watch a chick flick. I love romantic movies, but I don’t want to put him through that. An action movie should be perfect.
Then I put away the clothes. Everything’s folded and wrapped carefully in some kind of gauzy tissue paper. I hang the clothes in the closet, marveling at how luxurious the fabrics feel, and put the underwear in the dresser drawers. I even find a few exercise clothes. When did he ask Monique to add them?
Tolyan has thought of everything. It’s surprising…and nice that he’s so thorough without me having to say anything. His son is lucky.
But if he has a son… Where’s his wife? Or maybe he never married the mother of his child… Or maybe they’re divorced. There are a lot of possibilities.
Elizabeth said she’s never seen Tolyan with another woman, and they’ve known each other a long time. Maybe the woman left him and he’s still pining over her, although it’s difficult to picture him pining over anybody.
But that doesn’t mean it isn’t possible. I wasn’t able to imagine him being a dad, either. He just seems like one of those rare snow leopards—an apex predator that enjoys solitude.
You’re just sad because the guy you are developing feelings for has a college-age son and an ex-wife or some such equivalent.
Shut up, self. I never asked you. And I probably shouldn’t be arguing with myself, but I’m used to it. Can’t be helped when I don’t have friends to talk to.
But even if I did, Tolyan isn’t a topic I could bring up truthfully. I can’t tell anybody how I ended up getting him to agree to help me.
When I open the top drawer on the second dresser, close to the bed, something gets caught. I stop and jiggle it around a bit until something thunks and I can pull out the drawer.
A knife sits in the center of the drawer. I pick it up. It’s definitely not a typical kitchen knife. It looks serious—like something a Navy SEAL or some other badass might carry. The blade seems sharp, and I know better than to fool with it.
I put the knife on top of the dresser and put away the rest of my things. Given how thorough Tolyan is, I doubt it being in the drawer was a coincidence. But it’s weird that it was placed there so…sloppily. If he needed to grab the knife in a hurry, the way it got caught would eat up precious time.
On the other hand, given how methodical he is, maybe there’s a reason he put it here. I should just act like I didn’t notice anything.
My phone pings. I pick it up to glance at the message.
–Courtney: I ran into Ben Gibson and was reminded of you.
Ben? I haven’t thought of him since my parents died. We dated for, like, two months during our freshman year of high school before deciding that we’d rather be friends. We had zero chemistry, and I think he only asked me out because he liked the idea of having a girlfriend, not because he actually had boyfriend-like feelings about me.
–Me: I didn’t know he was in Philadelphia.
The last I heard, he was in Jersey City. But that was five years ago.
–Courtney: Just traveling through, he said. He asked if we keep in touch, and I told him you were doing fine. Hope you don’t mind.
–Me: You didn’t tell him where I was, did you?
I don’t want him to know. Actually, I don’t want anyone to know. Courtney’s the only exception. She’s the only friend I have left, and she’s been checking up on me over the last eight years.
–Courtney: No, of course not. I didn’t give him your number, either. Just said you’d changed it and I didn’t know.
I let out a soft sigh.
–Me: Thanks. I appreciate it.