She smiled. “I’m glad you didn’t. I might have kicked you in the head.”
“I’m just glad you found a place that was peaceful.”
She yawned and shook her head. “It wasn’t you,” she said. “It truly wasn’t. I really liked being there with you. It’s the nicest falling-asleep I’ve had in a very long time.”
He shook his head. “I didn’t take it personally, don’t worry. And thank you for the coffee.”
“Do you want anything else? Breakfast? I could make…toast.”
“No, I have to get home and change anyway, as much as I’d like to smell your shampoo on my shirt for the next twelve hours. I think I’m going to grab a bagel on the way.”
“Wait, do you work today?” she asked. She looked at her phone. “It’s almost nine now.”
“I don’t, fortunately. I’ve been on for six days straight. You want to do something later?”
“Honestly, I should keep working on the house,” she said. “It’s been a big couple of days, but I still have a million boxes to go through, and I only have a couple more weeks to work.”
“Do you want help?”
Wait, why didn’t she want help? Why did she suddenly imagine, with longing, an entire day in the middle of the living room floor, sorting boxes into smaller boxes, leafing through books, listening to something diverting, until it started to get dark? She had only so much time with Nick, so much time to kiss him and watch movies with him and sleep with him and tell him everything and gloat about the duck, so why did she know she was about to say no before she actually did? “You should go have a day,” she said. “I’ve got this, and if you stay here, you’ll distract me with your deliciousness.”
“That is definitely the most flattering way I have ever been told to buzz off,” he said, leaning over the table to kiss her on the cheek. “Can I call you later?”
She nodded as he stood back up. “Of course you can call me. But don’t be sexy on the phone, because I’m going to be busy.”
He headed for the door, picking up his messenger bag on the way. Once it was over his shoulder, he used both hands to grandly gesture down his body, from head to hips. “Just remember, play your cards right, and you could have hot librarian sex every day,” he said. “You really want to give this up for constant pouring rain?”
“All right, get out of here,” she said, balling up a napkin and throwing it toward him. He winked and let himself out, and she picked up his glass and poured the ice from his coffee into her own.
She texted June: Nick stayed over last night. And then she added a smiley face. Then changed it to the smiley face with the yikes teeth. Then the smiley face with the heart eyes. Then the one that was sweating. The exploding head, The Scream, the party hat, the praise hands? She finally settled on the little emoji of a pair of exclamation points, which seemed silly, since she could have just added two actual exclamation points.
June replied very quickly: And?
It’s going to be complicated.
June again: What a surprise.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Laurie used Facebook so rarely that she had almost forgotten what this particular sound even was when she heard it that night, this slightly different tone. But when she picked up her phone after a weekend of ping-ponging between her place and Nick’s, she saw the notification right away: It was a new message from Rosalie Kane. She opened it, holding her breath.
Laurie,
Hello! Yes, Carl Kittery was my grandfather. As you probably know, he died in 1995. I am 52 （eek） and was born in 1969. I lived with him for about three years, from 1988 to 1991. I believe he did know your aunt Dot. Maybe you know about this, but I recently was able to identify her in a photo we have of him from 1972 where he’s holding a decoy I believe he gave to her. I think they were quite close, although he never said a lot about the particulars of their relationship. （His marriage with my grandmother was pretty complicated.）
I would love to meet! My grandpa was very special, and I am sure your aunt was, too. I might learn just as much about my family from a conversation as you would learn about yours. I am a teacher, and I am off for the summer, so any afternoon you’re free, I’d be happy to welcome you down here. I think it would be a lot of fun to talk!
Best, Rosalie
Laurie wrote back quickly, asking whether Rosalie really meant any day—she wasn’t going to be in town long, so was it possible that they could meet the day after tomorrow, Tuesday? It was. Rosalie gave her the address, and when Laurie looked it up, she found photos of a charming little cottage with a brightly colored metal sculpture in the front yard. The home of an art teacher, for sure.