Bones and Roses by Eileen; Goudge

with me. I’m not one of those guys.”
    I rouse from my stupor, remembering my place. I’m the property manager, not an old friend who’d dropped by unexpectedly. “Thanks, I appreciate the offer, but really, there’s no need. I’ll be fine in a minute. This stuff seems to be working.” I lift my tea mug. “I feel calmer already.”
    I can’t bear to talk about my mom, so we talk about his job as a combat cameraman. “It’s dangerous at times, and not always fun,” he says, “but I can’t imagine doing anything else. I’d rather take a bullet doing what I love than be miserable trying to make my parents happy. Though right now I’m the least of their worries.” His expression clouds over at the reference to their divorce.
    It’s not my place to comment, so I only say, “I’m sure they’re glad to have you back. How long are you staying?”
    â€œTwo, three weeks, maybe longer. I never know when or where my next assignment will be.”
    â€œWhere’s home?”
    â€œYou 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€œIt helps to have parents with vacation homes.” Besides this one, there’s the condo in Aspen.
    â€œTrue. Though I usually stay with my girlfriend in New York whenever I’m between assignments.”
    So he has a girlfriend. That explains why we haven’t met before now. It doesn’t 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 Daniel’s voice call my name as if I’d conjured him up.
    â€œThere you are!” he cries, his gaze falling on me as he comes striding into the room. “I’ve been looking all over for you.” He comes to an abrupt halt when he notices I’m not alone, his gaze flicking from me to Bradley and then back to me. I can imagine what’s going through his head.
    â€œDaniel, I was just …” I trail off, not sure what I wanted to say.
    â€œYou weren’t answering your phone. I’ve only left about a million messages on your voicemail,” he goes on as if I hadn’t spoken, closing the distance between me and him. I’ve never seen him so agitated; normally he’s the calm voice of reason. “Ivy told me what happened. I was worried when I didn’t hear from you. Thank God you’re all right.” What he means is, I’m not drowning my sorrows in some seedy bar. Daniel’s never seen me drunk, but he knows my history.
    â€œI’m sorry. I had my phone off when I was at the police station. I forgot to check my messages. Daniel, this is—”
    He remembers his manners then and turns to our host before I can make the introductions. “Oh, hey. You must be Bradley. I’m Daniel. Resident groundskeeper and boyfriend.” Bradley rises and the two men shake hands. “Sorry for barging in like this, but when I saw Tish’s Explorer in the driveway …” 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, “Mind if I join you?”
    I don’t know whether to be relieved or annoyed.
    I’d 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 wasn’t flying away for some reason. They made such a comical sight—the seagull hopping along on one