Silver Basilisk - Zoe Chant Page 0,61
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She stopped, glancing up. Now that she wasn’t sitting in air conditioning, she missed her sun hat. Early as it was, the day was glare-bright, hot, and humid. She’d have to replace the hat that had flown off into the storm over the Grand Canyon.
Rigo turned, and joined her. “I think we can leave him to it,” he said.
Godiva smiled at the knot of people enthusiastically talking tech, and waved to Alejo as she fell in step beside Rigo.
Rigo said, “Godiva, I did a little checking online last night. There’s a hat store around the corner. If you want to be very strict about watching the post office, we could trade that job off, so you could replace the one lost in the canyon?”
Godiva stared up at him, for a moment unable to speak. She was totally unused to anyone thinking of her comfort in quite that way. In fact, she had come to pride herself on her ability to take care of Number One.
But when she let herself look back at their time together, he’d always done little things like that, back in the day. Are you tired after that long shift? That big table had you running back and forth all night. Let me rub your feet for you. Another time, he dropped by the restaurant and bent to whisper that he happened to be passing by the rear, where she had her room, and he’d seen a storm coming so he’d pulled her laundry off the clothes line and stashed it inside the porch in its basket.
Little things. Nothing that ever cost money, which neither of them had beyond covering the basics. The only cost was time, effort, and the mental diligence to look out for another person. Little things, easily forgotten.
Her eyes stung, and she blinked hard, saying, “Wow that glare is bright. Yes—thanks. We can definitely trade off, or I can sit with my laptop for hours, if you’d like to do something more interesting.”
“Best thing I can think of is spending time with you,” he said in that easy voice that she was beginning to realize no longer masked easy emotions.
She drew an unsteady breath. Her own emotions were cracking like an ice-covered lake in spring. But now was not the time, standing here in the bright morning on a street that had changed over the years since she’d first lived here.
All right, practical things first. “I noticed there’s a Starbucks right across from the post office. They don’t pay any attention to people sitting and working for hours, as long as you buy something before you take up a table.”
“I saw that, too,” Rigo said. “In fact, I’m pretty sure the windows look straight into the big window across the front of the post office lobby.”
“Then let’s hustle, and nab one of those window tables.”
He held out his hand, smiling in invitation. She laughed and took his hand. He matched pace beside her.
Early as it was, she was glad of the a/c when they walked into the Starbucks, and even gladder when she spotted one table left in the prime real estate by the windows.
Once she had a table locked down, Rigo sat with their drinks and she walked across the street to check on the box. When she entered the post office, conscious of Rigo there across the street watching, she scanned the other patrons. Three men of various ages, two college kids, a woman with a stroller. Nobody was the least bit interested in an old lady as she moved to the box and twiddled the combo. In the time she took to open the box, feel around within its empty metal, and close the box door again, most of the people had already left, except for one of the men chucking junk mail into the trash.
So. Her test message hadn’t arrived yet. Okay. Now to watch to see if anyone came to get it.
By the time she got back to Starbucks, she had her speech ready. “Rigo, let’s talk out the next step. I have a feeling I’m the only one who really cares about why the mail Alejo and I have been sending has vanished. I am stubborn, in case you haven’t noticed—stop grinning.” His smile vanished like smoke, but there was a suspicious glint in his dark eyes. “You’re still grinning. It’s just inside. I can . . . smell it.”
He choked on a laugh.
“Now, I’m serious. I’m stubborn, and that means nobody is going to talk me