I relaxed into Ren and tangled my legs with his.
It was then it hit me we’d never done this, something totally normal like relaxing in front of a TV.
It also hit me it felt nice.
And last, it hit me that after a busy day that didn’t end great, this, just this, was exactly what I needed. A belly full of Ren’s cooking. A wine glass that, unless I wanted it to be, never was empty. A couch. A TV. A good show.
But most of all.
Ren.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Impossible
The next morning, post-coffee rush at Fortnum’s, the bell over the door rang.
I had a lot to do, and unfortunately part of that was keeping liquid until my insurance check came in. My credit card balance was getting high and my bank account balance was never high. Thus I needed my take from the tip jar.
I twisted from doing dishes at the sink, looked and saw Mr. Kumar and his mother-in-law, Mrs. Salim, enter the store.
They were regulars. They were also (kind of) part of our posse.
Mr. Kumar owned a corner store on Tex’s block and he’d been dragged into two Rock Chick Rides, Indy’s and Ava’s. He was a good guy who, against the odds, kept his little store open. I helped by shopping there occasionally, even though it was out of my way.
I didn’t know much about Mrs. Salim except that every time I saw her, I feared she’d keel over and quit breathing, she looked that old. And this wasn’t being mean. Seriously, she looked that old. Just saying, the woman’s wrinkles had wrinkles.
I also knew she liked to read.
As usual, Mrs. Salim shuffled to the books.
Mr. Kumar came to the coffee counter and, weirdly, had his eyes on me.
He stopped and looked at Tex. “Did you speak with her?”
I turned from the sink, grabbing a towel to wipe my hands.
“Talk with me about what?” I asked.
“No,” Tex answered Mr. Kumar “I talked to Hank.”
“But the police aren’t doing anything!” Mr. Kumar suddenly cried, and the skin on the back of my neck prickled.
I moved to the espresso counter, jamming in close to Tex. “Talk to me about what?’
“Hank says they’re lookin’ into it,” Tex told me.
“Looking into what?” I asked.
“And I’m keepin’ an eye out,” Tex went on, still not answering me.
“Keeping an eye on what?” I snapped.
“The rash of burglaries on our street,” Mr. Kumar finally answered me.
“You’ve had a rash of burglaries?” Indy asked, coming up to the counter, hands full of empties.
“Yes,” Mr. Kumar answered.