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Mack didn’t stop talking the minute we got into the car.
I turned on the heat as we sat in the driveway, hoping the car would warm up before we started driving. It was late afternoon, but the sun had already disappeared behind the tree line, and the icy wind seemed to find its way through every crack and crevice in the car.
Mack coughed, expelling a puff of white air. “Cold weather sometimes makes me cough,” he explained.
“I know,” I said, smiling. “It was cold in DC, remember?”
He grinned. “Yeah, I guess. This just feels colder, you know?” He rubbed at his arms.
“Probably because you’re not dressed for it,” I said, eyeing his button-down shirt. He hadn’t brought along his sports coat. “Where’s your jacket?”
He shrugged. “Felt too formal to wear to a burger joint.”
I rolled my eyes. “Too formal for hypothermia?”
His smile was self-deprecating. “Way too formal for that.”
I adjusted the heater, holding my hands in front of the vent, waiting for warm air. Heat hit my fingertips and satisfied that more was on its way, I dialed it up a notch and backed out of the driveway.
The drive to town was filled with talking. Mack talking. He filled me in on some of the cases he’d worked on recently, and he talked about my replacement, Justine.
“I think she’s borderline insane,” he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
“I seriously doubt that.”
“And she’s always telling me she needs breaks and stuff.”
“What do you mean, breaks?” I asked.
“Like lunch breaks. Breaks during the day.”
I glanced over at him. “That’s the law, Mack. You’re supposed to give your employees breaks throughout the day.”
He frowned. “You never took any.”
He was right about that. More times than not, I’d eat at my desk, answering phones or typing up notes as I picked at a salad or wolfed down a sandwich.
“I was special,” I said.
“Yeah. You were,” he said, and I was surprised at the gruff tenderness in his tone.
I tried to switch the subject, mostly so I wouldn’t feel guilty about leaving. “So, what else has been going on with you?”
“I already told you about the cases I’ve been working on,” he said. “Well, as much as I can tell you without divulging too much.”
“I meant what’s going on with you outside of work,” I said. “You taken any vacations? Seeing anyone?”
We normally didn’t talk about those kinds of things on purpose—they would just come up in our daily conversations—so it felt a little weird asking him outright about his personal life.
“No vacations,” he said. He paused. “Actually, I did head up to Massachusetts for a few days this past summer. My niece’s high school graduation.”
“That must have been nice,” I said. We were just about to hit the outskirts of town and I slowed down, knowing the speed limit was about to change. “Is that where your family lives?”
“Yeah, my sister. She runs a camp up by the Berkshires.”
“Is that a town? A family?”
He chuckled. “No. The mountains.”
I’d never been to Massachusetts and had never really considered it having much more than a big city that had a baseball team and a harbor people dumped tea into.
“That must be fun,” I said.
“Supervising kids who watch and entertain other kids sounds like fun?” He shuddered. “Are you serious?”
“Sure,” I said. It actually did sound fun. Different, at least.
I pulled up to the stop sign right outside Latney and waited for a UPS truck to accelerate through the intersection. “And are you seeing anyone?”
I thought about the number on the mile marker and instantly regretted my question. I hoped he wouldn’t launch into too much detail.
“No,” he said quickly.
“No?”
He shook his head. “Nope. Not seeing anyone.”
This didn’t sound like the Mack I knew, but I didn’t know if I wanted to push the issue. Mack had always been a ladies man of sorts—more than half of his clients were female, and there had been more than one occasion over the years where cases had turned into relationships. Most of them had been casual affairs, at least from what I’d witnessed, but he always seemed to have someone he was taking out to dinner or to parties.
“So, this is Latney,” Mack said, staring out the window as we drove into town.
The main street was about four blocks long and housed most of the businesses: the bank, the hardware store, Toby’s, Sophia’s boutique, the Wicked Wich. There were offices, too, businesses I’d never been in—an accountant and a lawyer, a tax consultant and an insurance broker—and at the far end of the road, the newly repaired steeple of St. Simon’s was just visible.
“It’s cute,” Mack commented. “Small, but cute.”
Both were accurate observations. Latney was definitely small, and it was certainly charming. The holiday decorations had all come down so it looked a little drab to me, especially after being so lit up for Christmas, but its charms were still visible. The streetlights that were fashioned to look like old gaslamps, the brick façade of some of the buildings, the painted wooden shutters that framed the windows of some of the businesses; all of these things added just the right amount of ambience to Latney’s tiny downtown.
I pulled to the curb right outside of the Wicked Wich. “You ready to eat?”
A minute later, we were inside the restaurant, stamping our feet on the mat to dry them. I tugged at the scarf wrapped around my neck and unzipped my coat.
And then I looked into the restaurant.
A sea of faces—familiar faces—stared back at us.
Every single person was looking in our direction.
And all eyes were on Mack.