with me. Iâm not one of those guys.â
I rouse from my stupor, remembering my place. Iâm the property manager, not an old friend whoâd dropped by unexpectedly. âThanks, I appreciate the offer, but really, thereâs no need. Iâll be fine in a minute. This stuff seems to be working.â I lift my tea mug. âI feel calmer already.â
I canât bear to talk about my mom, so we talk about his job as a combat cameraman. âItâs dangerous at times, and not always fun,â he says, âbut I canât imagine doing anything else. Iâd rather take a bullet doing what I love than be miserable trying to make my parents happy. Though right now Iâm the least of their worries.â His expression clouds over at the reference to their divorce.
Itâs not my place to comment, so I only say, âIâm sure theyâre glad to have you back. How long are you staying?â
âTwo, three weeks, maybe longer. I never know when or where my next assignment will be.â
âWhereâs home?â
âYou mean as in permanent address? Nowhere, really. I used to keep an apartment in the city, but when it came time to renew my lease, I realized there was no point. I was almost never there.â
âIt helps to have parents with vacation homes.â Besides this one, thereâs the condo in Aspen.
âTrue. Though I usually stay with my girlfriend in New York whenever Iâm between assignments.â
So he has a girlfriend. That explains why we havenât met before now. It doesnât surprise me, though I feel strangely let down. Which is ridiculous. I have a boyfriend. Whose consoling arms will soon be around me. At that precise moment I hear Danielâs voice call my name as if Iâd conjured him up.
âThere you are!â he cries, his gaze falling on me as he comes striding into the room. âIâve been looking all over for you.â He comes to an abrupt halt when he notices Iâm not alone, his gaze flicking from me to Bradley and then back to me. I can imagine whatâs going through his head.
âDaniel, I was just â¦â I trail off, not sure what I wanted to say.
âYou werenât answering your phone. Iâve only left about a million messages on your voicemail,â he goes on as if I hadnât spoken, closing the distance between me and him. Iâve never seen him so agitated; normally heâs the calm voice of reason. âIvy told me what happened. I was worried when I didnât hear from you. Thank God youâre all right.â What he means is, Iâm not drowning my sorrows in some seedy bar. Danielâs never seen me drunk, but he knows my history.
âIâm sorry. I had my phone off when I was at the police station. I forgot to check my messages. Daniel, this isââ
He remembers his manners then and turns to our host before I can make the introductions. âOh, hey. You must be Bradley. Iâm Daniel. Resident groundskeeper and boyfriend.â Bradley rises and the two men shake hands. âSorry for barging in like this, but when I saw Tishâs Explorer in the driveway â¦â His gaze drops to the bottle of Bordeaux and two glasses sitting on the coffee table, and I feel another flutter of apprehension, imagining what it must look like to him. Another man would demand an explanation or stomp off in a fit of jealousy, but Daniel merely inquires pleasantly, with a nod toward the wine, âMind if I join you?â
I donât know whether to be relieved or annoyed.
Iâd been sober a little over a year when I first met Daniel. One sunny fall day I was taking a stroll out at Paradise Point when I spied a stocky, sandy-haired guy around my age, dressed in olive cargo shorts and a Greenpeace T-shirt, chasing after a seagull that wasnât flying away for some reason. They made such a comical sightâthe seagull hopping along on one
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