The Pendleton Omens - 2. Chapter 2

“You’ve been putting it off,” Noah said.

“I know.” We were talking about something different.

“Not that I don’t understand...”

“That doesn’t make it easier.”

We were in one of our two usual restaurants. The first was Italian. The second, Japanese. We were talking about me giving up my apartment.

“I know you’ve got nothing to hide,” he said laughing.

“Guys double parked by my bed...”

“And I know you like it ‘cause it’s close to work.”

Noah’s house was all of a twenty-minute drive.

“But I want you home at night.”

“Selfish of you,” I joked.

Then I played a little more with some of the squid he’d ordered. Noah liked fish raw. I preferred it cooked. Noah used chopsticks. Our waitress, Akemi, didn’t even wait for me to ask anymore. She brought me a fork as soon as I sat down.

And the truth was I’d been spending more nights at Noah’s place than at my own. But I couldn’t let it go.

“What scares you most?” he asked.

“We’ve been through this.”

“You’ve barely slept there in the last six months.”

“Every night this week.”

“Because of the snow.”

“It’s cheap enough to keep.”

“Up to a point. But another two years?”

“We haven’t been together that long.”

“Almost.”

“Only if you count your way,” I said smiling. Noah liked to count from the very first moment he saw me.

“I like to remember that,” he reminded me.

“But you can’t use it as an anniversary.”

He laughed.

We’d talked about anniversaries before. “Even people who get married count from their wedding days,” I’d insisted. “No matter how long they’ve been together.”

“We’re not getting married.”

“Who knows?”

“So I should count how long we’ve lived together?”

“Technically, we don’t,” I pointed out.

“We may as well.”

“No argument there.”

“And you still prefer our fourth date?”

That’s where I counted from.

“Yeah. ‘Cause the first time we were feeling each other out. The second, I was still making sure you were gay. That you weren’t some lonely, divorced guy who just wanted to go out for a beer.”

“Is that how you saw me?” he joked.

I let it pass. “The third was that basketball game you insisted on taking me to.”

“UMass won.”

“Barely. And the fourth was after we’d had sex.”

“So you knew how things were.”

“Well, I was hoping,” I said, grinning.

“You knew.” He grinned back. “You’ve told me as much.”

“I was still reeling from the sex,” I joked.

Noah grinned again. The first time we’d had sex was on his table. I’d been coming to his office irregularly for almost four months. He could tell his adjustments got me hot but didn’t realize how much.

“So by your count we’ve been together twenty-three months,” I said. “And by mine it’s closer to nineteen.”

“You give up your apartment, I’ll give you the nineteen.”

“That’s extortion.”

“You would know the proper term.”

“It’s nineteen, no matter how you twist it.”

“Maybe,” he admitted. “But you’re wrong about the apartment. It’s not cheap. You could put all that into investments.”

“When did you become my broker?”

“You could do worse.”

“I’m fine.”

“You get hit by a truck tomorrow, you’d be broke.”

“I’d be on disability.”

“Probably without me,” he kidded.

“More reason to keep the apartment.”

“Like you’d limp up three floors every day.”

“You wouldn’t carry me?”

He just looked me in my eyes. Which told me he’d carry me anywhere.

“Why are you pushing?” I asked instead of facing that.

“Am I?”

“It seems that way. Could seem.”

“I’m sorry then. You know I don’t mean it.” He waited, then added, “Maybe I’m after your furniture.”

That was a joke. I had no furniture, at least none of my own. I’d walked out of Sharon’s house mainly taking my clothes.

“I’ll give up the place when spring comes,” I promised. “Right now, it’s convenient.”

“For the snow?”

“Yeah,” I said. Hoping he’d leave it at that.

“Spring’s March twentieth,” he told me. “Five-and-a-half weeks.”

“I’m talking about spring in general.”

That made him laugh. So loudly it bothered people nearby.

“You’ll get us kicked out of here,” I warned.

“Kemi wouldn’t let that happen. Besides, they know I’d sue.”

It was an easy crack, but it took Noah off the subject.

“April first,” he offered, bringing us right back. “Unless there’s a late blizzard.”

“April Fool’s Day? Is that what you want for an anniversary?”

“April second.” He was grinning.

“No, the first will do.” And I put my hand over his.

He just stared at me. With those damn brown eyes.