Page 23 of Rune’s Solace

Mostly.

The pink-gold water came and went while I was busy pretending I had absolutely no idea what Rune looked like on a motorcycle in my rearview mirror.

Which was a lie.

I knew exactly what he looked like.

That was ruining the drive way more than the protection detail.

* * *

Sawyer clocked him in under a minute.

Of course he did. I’d texted him a warning that morning: Compound security thing. There might be a guy around. He’s supposed to be there. Don’t ask. Because the alternative was letting Sawyer think some random bike was following me around, and that would’ve gone over great. He’d sent back three question marks and a knife emoji, I’d sent back DON’T ASK, and he’d answered fine but I’m asking with my eyes forever.

He found me at the coffee place at ten and did what we always did in public, leaned down and kissed the top of my head, dropped into the chair beside me instead of across, one arm going along the back of mine while his other hand stole my coffee like he hadn’t ordered his own. Easy. Automatic. Anybody looking saw boyfriend and girlfriend and quit looking, which was the reason we’d started doing it in the first place. Usually I barely noticed anymore.

This morning I noticed.

Because Rune was across the street.

“Don’t look,” Sawyer murmured, close to my ear, for all the world like he was saying something sweet. “But there’s a biker.”

“I know there’s a biker.”

“There is a biker, Amy.” Still low, still leaned in, still smiling like we were the two happiest people on King Street, while his eyes did something else entirely over the top of my head. “A large, tattooed, deeply biker guy, who followed your car this morning, I watched him, and who is, at this exact moment, parked across the street pretending to be a road sign. I’m giving you the forecast. Sunny, mild, with a hundred-percent chance of felony across the street.”

I picked up my coffee to hide my mouth. “He’s doing a job. Ignore him.”

“I cannot ignore him, he’s the size of a vending machine.” He laced his fingers through mine on the tabletop, reflex, cover, the thing we did a dozen times a day, and to the room it read as tender and to me it was Sawyer using my hand as a stress ball. “Assessment. Since I’m forbidden to ask and can only observe, like a nature documentary. Big. Tattoos climbing right up his neck, so that’s a backstory I’ll never get. Clean-shaved. Did not expect that, he’s got the jaw for a beard and he’s denying us, selfish. And still. Amy, he is so still. Has not looked at his phone one time. Do you know how unwell you have to be to sit somewhere an hour and not touch your phone? He just watches. He watches everything. It’s upsetting. I don’t like it.”

I laughed into my cup before I could stop it, and Sawyer’s face lit up, because getting me to laugh in public was his blood sport. And to anybody watching, to a certain somebody watching, we were only a couple being stupid over coffee.

I knew he was over there. That’s the part I’m not proud of. I knew Rune was across the street watching us, and I leaned into Sawyer a little more than I needed to. I laughed harder when he said something stupid. Once, I even left my hand on his arm longer than I normally would, and every bit of it was for Rune. I wanted him to see me having a good time with somebody else. I wanted him to see me laughing and comfortable and wanted, and maybe wonder what it felt like knowing somebody else got the version of me he’d decided he didn’t want anymore.

It was petty. I knew it while I was doing it.

I did it anyway.

And, God help me, I enjoyed it a little.

“I want to bring him a muffin,” Sawyer said.

“Absolutely not.”

“On my own time. A little muffin. As a treat. For the murder monk.” He squeezed my hand, playing it for the room and for me at the same time. “’Stay hydrated, Motorcycle Batman’. You can’t stop me, he’s a public biker on a public street and I am a generous soul.”

“You bring that man a muffin and I end this relationship in front of everybody.”

“You would never. I’m the best fake boyfriend in the Lowcountry and you know it.” Then he went quieter, and the performance stayed up, heads close, the picture intact, but the voice under it dropped straight into the real thing, the way only Sawyer could fall through a joke without moving his face. “You okay, though? For actual. A guy following you. I know your stuff, Ames. I know that’s the worst kind of thing for you. Say the word and I’ll get you out of here right now. I’ll make a scene. I’ve been dying to make a scene.”

And there it was. Sawyer being Sawyer. He didn’t know who Rune was or what any of this was really about, but he knew me well enough to know being followed should’ve scared me.

“I’m okay,” I said. And the strange, awful truth of it sat right there in my mouth. “I’m actually okay.”

“Weird.”

“Very weird.” I wasn’t about to tell Sawyer that the biker across the street was the only man alive my body had ever decided not to fear, mostly because I had no words for it and partly because saying it out loud would make it real. “Drink your coffee. And kiss my head again, the lady by the window keeps looking, let’s give her the show.”