Page 69 of The Hitman’s Final Job

Tess shrugs. “Maybe they can pick a different cruise?”

I look at Silas. “What will you do if you win?”

In the dim light of the room, I feel Silas’s hand clasp mine. “I don’t know. Convince my best friend’s dad to take a vacation?”

I hope my eyes communicate to him how much I want that even if my brain is telling me how much I can’t do it.

The judging panel reaches its verdict for the evening and announces the entries that will go through to the next round. Sir Squash-a-nova is among them, and Chris’s entry also goes through.

The crowd spreads into the main area of the bar, and the evening settles into the warm noise of people drinking, talking, and arguing pleasantly about vegetables, which is probably the most and the least “me thing” ever.

Silas joined Tess with a glass of wine, and now that he’s had three, he’s a little buzzed and getting all touchy-feely. It would be cute if Tess didn’t keep looking at us like she knows exactly what’s going on.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and see Rowan’s name.

“Tess, can you keep an eye on Silas for me? I have to call Rowan back. I’m just stepping outside.”

“No problem, honey.”

I step out through the bar and onto Main Street, where the festival has quieted into its evening mode. Most of the stands are closed, and there are only a few clusters of people hanging out.

“Dad,” Rowan says when I answer.

“Hey. You should be here. Silas’s zucchini just went through to the next round of the phallic gourd competition.”

“I really wish I was there. I’ve had countless messages from Chris about the competition. I’m really sorry, but I can’t make it this time.”

“You have a new case?” That’s always the reason. He really is my son.

“Yeah,” he says. “It’s—I can’t talk about it, but it’s significant, and I can’t leave Denver right now. I’m sorry. I really wanted to be there.”

“I know, son. There’s always next year. We’ll send you all the photos. Silas is cataloging this festival in more detail than the local newspaper.”

“How’s Silas?”

“He’s inside arguing with someone about zucchini cultivation,” I say. “He’s fine.”

He laughs. “He’s such an old man.”

“Hey,” I protest. “I grow things, and I’m not that old.”

“Then maybe you should start acting your age and start dating.”

This is an argument we’ve had many times. As most children, Rowan thinks me being on my own means I’m celibate. I’m not about to break his view of the world by saying I occasionally hook up with people, even if until Silas I’d been on a particularly long dry spell.

“Anyway, I gotta go, Dad. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

I stand on the street for a moment after the call ends. I’m sad that Rowan isn’t coming. I’ve been looking forward to having him here again, to the three of us hanging out at the festival together.

But he’s not coming. Which means I get to keep Silas in my bed longer.

As I’m turning to go back inside, my eyes are drawn to a man across the street. He’s just far enough away from the lamp post that I can’t see much detail, but he’s looking my way. He stands there for a few seconds before he walks unhurriedly in the opposite direction.

I watch him until he turns a corner and disappears, and then I go back inside.

Silas is where I left him, in conversation with Tess about his dream vegetable garden. When he sees me, he gives me that smile I’ve come to know so well. He’s drunk and horny. Not that I’ve seen him drunk before, but he’s definitely horny.