in a long time. For a moment, you were back again. You were excited about something. God, Claire, I haven’t seen you excited about anything for a long time.”
I nodded, feeling a flicker of emotion inside before it fizzled out.
“I think this story, this little boy, is resonating with you,” she continued. She took a sip of her coffee. “What was his name again?”
“Daniel,” I said, staring at the flames in the fireplace. “Daniel Ray.”
I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned around to find Dominic standing at the table. “Morning,” he said cheerfully. “Hope I’m not interrupting.” He set a mug in front of me, topped high with whipped cream. “Thought you’d like your hot chocolate.”
My cheeks burned. I had to be blushing, but I hoped they wouldn’t notice. “Thank you,” I said, gesturing to Abby. “Have you two met?”
He shook his head.
“Abby, Dominic. Dominic, Abby.”
“Nice to meet you,” Abby said, grinning more at me than at him.
Dominic knelt down and put another log in the old fireplace. “I hope it doesn’t get too warm for you,” he said.
“It’s great,” I assured him, slipping off my sweater. I studied the brickwork on the hearth, remembering the tile I’d seen from across the room the day before. I looked at it more closely now. The text read, “Lander’s Pub House.” “That tile,” I said to Dominic, “what does it mean?”
“Oh,” he replied, glancing at the ceramic. “This place used to be a pub—or a saloon; whatever they called those places back then. It survived Prohibition, too.” He pointed to a dent in the floorboards that had apparently escaped repair. “It’s where the town drunkards congregated. The police just sent them over here. It was a rowdy place back in the day. We still have a couple antique beer barrels and a stein or two up in the loft.” He ran his hand along the fireplace, pulling a wedge of loose gray mortar free. “But this,” he continued, “this is special. See the initials here?” He pointed to the edge of the tile, signed “S. W. Ivanoff.” “One of Seattle’s most famous masons. The man did the majority of the decorative hearths in the old Olympic Hotel and other landmarks in the city. A true artisan. Of course, his work was never truly recognized until after his death.”
I pulled out my notebook and scrawled the name down. “Who knows?” I said. “The architecture section might be interested in profiling his work.”
“Well,” Dominic said, the bell on the door alerting us to an incoming customer. I felt a blast of icy air on my cheeks, which tempered the warmth of the blazing fire. “Good to see you again,” he said, looking directly at me.
“You too,” I replied, as he turned and walked back to the bar.
“Someone has a little crush on you,” Abby said in a singsong whisper.
I looked away. “Oh, stop.”
“All right, all right,” she conceded. “But, hey, at least you have an admirer.”
“So do you,” I added. “Do I need to bring up Rick in news?”
We both burst into laughter. Rick—sweet, yes, with a full mullet—had a long-suffering crush on Abby. Sadly, he had the charm of a red-foot tortoise—and lived with his parents.
Abby took a final sip of her coffee, then reached for her white puffy down thigh-length North Face coat. She zipped it up and grinned. “Does this thing make me look like the Michelin Man?”
“Do you want the truth?” I asked, trying to stifle a laugh.
She nodded.
“Sorta,” I said, letting a giggle slip through. “But at least you’re warm.”
She grinned. “Well, I better get this Michelin Man butt of mine into the office. Frank’s got me working on a stack of research for the Sunday paper, and you wouldn’t believe the requests Cassandra threw at me last night.”
Cassandra. I cringed. Her name had a prickly feel to it. I wanted to say ouch when anyone said it aloud.
“The woman wants an entire tome on the city’s Italian restaurants in the 1980s and 90s,” Abby continued. “Food critics take themselves a leetle too seriously. Anyway, the only thing I’ve come up with thus far is a killer craving for baked ziti.”
I smiled. “Good luck with that.”
Abby glanced at Dominic across the room. “You staying here to work?”
“Nah,” I said, standing up. My eyes met Dominic’s. I quickly looked away. “I’ll head in with you. We can share a cab.”
“Knock, knock.”
I looked up from my computer to see Ethan standing in the doorway. “Hello, stranger,” he said stiffly,