Page 100 of Jonesing for a Spy

I pull my phone out of my pocket to see a new message.

Mom

There’s a lovely girl in our living room. She says she came to see you, and you weren’t home. Where are you? I’ll have fresh cookies when you get here.

Is she a beautiful blonde woman with freckles on her nose?

Her name is Mirren Jones and I like her! She’s a nice girl.

Fuck.

My.

Life.

42

dancing on landmines

Strider

If The Gift of the Magi were fucked-up real-life drama, it couldn’t be as dramatic as this moment.

Yeah, that’ll be tough because I’m not in town. Give me a few and I’ll call you.

I switch to Charlie’s contact and start typing.

Remember that whole ‘Next time you come to town, plan to stay at my place’ convo? Did you mean it?

Charlie

Remember the whole not-asking-my-sister-out part?

Vaguely.

Vaguely, my ass. You’re dating her? Why aren’t you staying at her place?

Do NOT answer that question. Do not.

Fine. Come on over.

The petulance in his tone is obvious even via his texts. He’s a grown ass man of nearly forty, and he’s making me wait.

And wait and wait. He’s going to make me do this, isn’t he? I have half a mind to get a hotel. Not being overheard would be a bonus. Not having to ask again would be even better. But I do.

And where should I have the Uber drop me?

{contact card with address}

And there it is. I switch back and find, of all the luck, the same driver to pick me up and take me, not just across town, but across the county to a country road and… a farm.

Charlie, the homebuilder with the cool as shit office in downtown Fairhope, lives with pigs. Literal little oinkers. I can’t explain how insane my last month has been. At this point, if I find a talking dog or discover gremlins are real, I shouldn’t be surprised.

“Woof.” A deep bark comes through the screen door, and as an arm pushes it open, a black lab comes to the end of the porch and starts talking. Fuck me if the gremlins thing comes to pass.

“Millie,” her owner barks, and the gorgeous black beauty shushes. But she doesn’t sit, doesn’t stand down. She’s quiet but on guard.

Charlie stands behind her in jeans and a tee, barefoot. I look behind me. It feels like a setup. This is how horror movies begin. The innocent, overly trusting victim meets a friend in a secluded spot.