"I'll take care of this."
Something about those words was far less reassuring than it could have been. Or not, considering the speaker.
Mozzie's version of "taking care of things" was always unconventional. And unconventional was not what Peter had in mind when he'd started planning his anniversary celebration. Moz being involved at all was not what Peter had in mind when he started planning. But it was too late now.
Moz had an idea.
And that meant he was going to follow through.
Just like always.
The next morning he called and requested that Peter meet at a neutral location – an obscure jazz club – somewhere Peter wouldn't be caught dead if he weren't on a case – or trying to plan a dinner for his wife.
Moz put a brown, oblong, paper-wrapped package in Peter's hands.
"She'll love it," he declared.
"What is it?"
"Don't ask. Just wait until she opens it and see how thrilled she'll be."
"Did you acquire it legally?"
"Surprisingly, yes."
"Are you sure about that?"
"Do you want it or not?"
"Fine."
They met again the next day, in another obscure jazz club – Peter couldn't fathom why there were so many in a town that boasted two major league baseball teams. This time Mozzie came with wine and an ingredient list – an ingredient list on which Peter could pronounce absolutely nothing - not that he didn't try. And not that he didn't try to cook, but when El got home he'd just pulled a smoking mess from the oven and was looking dejectedly at the dog.
"What happened here?" El asked, setting down her purse and pecking him on the lips.
"I tried to cook," Peter replied, "went brilliantly – as you can see."
"Nothing wrong with takeout and wine…oh rather nice wine actually," El laughed.
"I will get right on that takeout…but first…" Peter said, reaching below the counter to fetch Mozzie's mystery package, "I got you something."
"Wait…I did too," El said quickly, grabbing her own package from her purse. A stark contrast to the brown-paper-wrapped oval El's gift was carefully wrapped in ivory paper, a perfect cube.
Peter glanced at his own attempt at being thoughtful and felt immensely inadequate.
"Open it!" El urged, handing him the package.
Peter pulled back the paper, and opened the non-descript navy box inside, then gasped when he saw the pattern beneath the folds of tissue. He couldn't grasp why he remembered it now – after not thinking about it for all those years – but he did. It was the tie he'd worn the night he proposed.
"Where did you find this?" he asked.
"June helped. She has a surprising wealth of knowledge when it comes to vintage menswear."
Peter took a deep breath, bracing himself for whatever disaster Mozzie had procured.
"Your turn," he said, handing El the misshapen brown parcel and praying desperately it wasn't contraband.
He didn't look at the package, focusing on her face, watching her eyes light up as she undid the paper and pulled out her gift. Her gift that she hadn't seen in five years since they lost it when they'd moved: the cake topper from their wedding.
"Where did YOU find THIS?" she asked, laughing and tearing up all at once.
"Moz," Peter replied, "don't know where he got it. Didn't even know what it was. Now very glad I inadvertently asked for his help.
"Peter it's perfect," El breathed, caressing the porcelain in one hand and Peter's shoulder with the other.
"Unlike our dinner."
"Yeah. Takeout is a good plan."