Page 13 of Death is Familiar

It looked like Jack and I had a date. Tonight. At his house.

With my confirmation sent through, I was already building it up in my head. The worry that the conversation wouldn’t flow. That our banter would cease since we weren’t on a case. That something would give me away.

And while my mind threatened to spiral back into the what ifs, and the could bes, one last text came through, but not from Jack: TV tonight?

4

If I was honest with myself, spending the evening watching TV with Todd was tempting. It was easier. Much easier. No complicated feelings or figuring things out. It also didn’t hurt that Todd loved trashy reality shows and got easily invested in their storylines.

But right now, I was standing in front of Jack’s townhouse. House. He lived in a house. In D.C. I couldn’t even imagine what that cost him. Or what it was like to have that surety, the security, that sort of permanence. A sense of place.

I’d gotten glimpses of it, having my own apartment. A place for myself, even if renewed monthly, suited me just fine. I’d felt fortunate. I was fortunate. Even if the neighbor was generally grumpy, and occasionally showed up unannounced…

I sighed, looking at the bag in my hand, at what I brought. Having passed by expensive shops and restaurants, it suddenly felt foolish. I didn’t bring wine, since alcohol and I were on the outs, and I didn’t want to bring any attention or expectation of drinking. A plant didn’t make sense since it wasn’t a housewarming. Ginger ale was more a Todd thing. So, I bought a bag of donuts. Cheap powdered donuts.

Which, the closer I got to Jack’s front door, was feeling less and less like a good idea. His home was at least three floors of windows and whitewashed brick. The walkway tufted manicured hostas and feathered grasses. I don’t know what I was expecting when Jack invited me over, but it wasn’t this.

Maybe it wasn’t too late. I could still turn around. Yes, that was probably a good idea.

Sure, I was on his front stoop, and no I didn’t have any excuses, but⁠—

The sage green door opened before I had a chance to make my escape, Jack appearing inside leaning against the frame.

Crossing his arms over his broad chest, a smirk graced his lips. “You got all dressed up for little old me?”

And just like that, my unease disappeared. “Don’t let it get to your head. I’m still wearing sneakers.” I brushed past him as I entered his home, keenly aware of where his attentions laid. “And I brought the world’s least attractive dessert.”

I shook the bag for emphasis, which solicited a wholehearted laugh from Jack as he closed the door behind me. It took a moment, but once I was inside⁠—

Oh my god.

I froze.

Jack’s home was immaculate.

Warm, and clean, and bright. A large bay window let in the evening sun. Wood paneled floors, deep and veined, matched the tone and texture of the cupboards. Exposed red brick ran along the far wall extended into the room, with a fireplace angled just-so providing a natural divide between the seating area and the earth-toned kitchen.

There was art on the walls, so well-tailored to the space, the light, it looked like it was custom-made. Like he’d bought art, real art, from an artist. The same artist. Over and over again.

I found my mouth open. In awe. “You live here?”

“It would be pretty extravagant if I rented this place just to impress you, Delilah.”

I raised my brow.

“Come.” Jack grinned, laying a hand flat on my hip, guiding me forward. “I’ll prove it’s mine. After we spoil our appetite.”

†

There was something about eating powdered sugar and fried dough in dress clothes, hunched over Jack’s kitchen island, that was extremely satisfying. Who was I kidding? Powdered sugar and fried dough were good any time. And what I was wearing wasn’t so much considered dress clothes, as it was a dress. And a fresh one at that, since I sweat through the outfit I’d worn to meet Botan.

I swallowed. “So far this could be anyone’s home Jack—just saying.”

“The proof is upstairs.” He sucked a bit of powder off his thumb, then squared his shoulders. “But first you and I need to have a talk.”

The way he said ‘talk’ made me think that I was about to get a talking-to. Most likely about the missed messages. “Oh good, that is exactly what I thought us spending time together needed.”

He shifted, lowering his gaze. “It was brought to my attention that I may have focused on the wrong things.”