Thursday the 3rd of July 1880

Chapter One

Phelan

It was not the greatest way to start my thirty-fifth birthday.

Previous years, my birthday had passed without much notice. Aside from Hugo, I didn't expect anyone to mention the date as it had never been important to others and I gave it little thought.

However, on this day, my train had been delayed by several hours, making what should have been an early evening arrival the previous day into pulling into the station at three in the morning. I hadn't slept a wink, and the carriage ride back to my apartment had been one where I forced my eyes open for the duration of the trip so that the driver didn't need to rouse me.

Elvira, confined to a smaller cage for travel, had been intolerable, but I could hardly blame her as she was kept in the same train car as all of the trunks. Her cage was sideways when the train stopped, and I couldn't imagine how many hours she'd spent toppled over in the dark.

"Here," I had told her at four in the morning, barely able to stay standing upright. There wasn't much in the house as far as human or bird food as I'd been away for weeks, but I put a handful of walnuts into her bowl. "Pretend these are snails."

She yelled at me for a full ten minutes while I cleaned my teeth and slipped out of my clothes, apparently angry that I had attempted to appease her with her second-favorite food instead of her favorite. I opened the window before I collapsed into bed and fell asleep in my undergarments, lulled by the gentle breeze streaming into my bedroom.

By the time I woke, dressed, and left my apartment, I had much higher hopes that it would be a decent day. I walked into the Danish bakery to cheers from Liva, who had dragged Nohr out of the back to greet me.

"The Viking has returned from Italy! Now he travels to Denmark, yes?" Liva said before I had a chance to sit.

"I will consider Denmark next summer," I said.

"But it's only July," Liva pointed out. "Plenty of summer left to visit your homeland."

Denmark was hardly my homeland, but I nodded politely. "I will return to Italy in three days and won't be back here until the end of August, I'm afraid. Classes start two weeks after I return."

This displeased Liva greatly and sent Nohr into the back with a shake of his head. I was fairly certain my return to Italy was reason enough for Nohr to disown me as a Viking.

Liva issued quite the earnest look as she filled a cup of coffee for me. "Italy is no good," she said.

"The food is very good," I replied.

"Not as good as Danish food."

That seemed highly subjective, but given how many times I'd witnessed Liva elbow her husband in the side or pinch him, I decided not to argue.

"Does Denmark have quarries where I can obtain marble?"

"No, but Denmark has family and that is better than marble."

"Of course," I said, deciding it was best not to argue with Liva despite my feelings on the matter of family.

Seventy-one days had passed since I'd learned of my brother Erik's death. It had been almost as long since I'd seen my cousin Val or said a word to him.

Thankfully we had few overlapping friends or acquaintances, so I doubted my absence at his wife's funeral was noticed, but Val's request that I stay away from the wake and services had been difficult to accept.

I had wanted to attend not simply for Val, but for my niece Elizabeth, who had been strangely silent regarding the funeral.

Of course, I hadn't seen her since the end of May, shortly before I left for the quarries and a summer of harvesting white marble. She had written to me twice, but gave no indication of whether or not my replies had been received. It would not have surprised me if her father had intercepted the letters and not given them to his daughter. I had a feeling that once I officially returned, he would not allow Eliza to resume the tennis lessons we had started at the end of April.

I finished the rest of my coffee and open-faced sandwich that Liva insisted I eat in order to prove that Danish food was better than Italian.

"Good, isn't it?" she asked. "Better than Italian, yes?"

"You serve the best food in the city," I said, hoping to appease her.

Once I paid for my coffee and meal, I walked toward the park, satchel over my shoulder and a hopeful feeling in my heart.

I checked my pocket watch multiple times as if the minutes would somehow race by and I would be later than expected. As it was, I assumed I'd be a half hour early to the east side of the park where Lucille and I had planned to meet at eleven for lunch.

"Professor!"

I startled at the sound of someone yelling as well as the wiry, rust-colored dog bounding toward me.

A lifetime of instinct told me to brace myself for the inevitable bite, but while I still froze in place, I bent my knees, preparing for Sebastian's dog Duke to jump on me.

"He has missed you, Professor Kimmer," Sebastian said as he jogged up to me at the park, dressed completely in orange.

Duke bounded ahead of his master and used me as a springboard, then ran circles around me, twirling around as he bowed.

"I didn't know you were coming back this soon," Sebastian said.

I had not returned to see either of them, but I was not disappointed by their presence. Several other artists were also in the park, most of them seated beneath trees with their lunches beside their outstretched legs.

"Only for a few days," I answered.

"How is the quarry?" Sebastian eagerly asked.

"Filthy," I said. "Hotter than I imagined and I've torn up my hands a bit," I answered, showing him my bloodied knuckles and calloused hands with fresh scratches.

The labor at the quarries was what I had expected. The amount of minor injuries to my hands was not, and I found myself bandaging my hands at the end of every day despite wearing gloves the majority of the time.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" he asked.

"For the most part."

I looked past him at the benches up ahead, disappointed that I didn't see Lucille either already waiting for me or strolling through the park.

"Am I disrupting your walk?" Sebastian asked.

I turned back to face him, noticing how disappointed he looked that I was preoccupied.

"No, of course not," I said. "I am waiting on someone."

"I won't keep you," he said.

"How is the group?" I asked before he walked away with his head down.

"Good," he said, his voice not very convincing. "Better when you are there…"

"Unfortunately I don't believe I will have time to stop by tonight," I said.

"Next time, then?" Sebastian replied.

"When I officially return in August."

Sebastian took the news far harder than I would have expected considering I'd only attended five meetings before departing for Carrara. "I suppose I will see you in August. Come on, Duke."

The Irish terrier looked at me one last time before he bounded after his master, leaving me on the east side of the park searching for Luci.

Rather than sit and await Lucille's arrival, I walked around the pond, following the trail lined in flowers. Butterflies fluttered around me while bees buzzed around my face and I found myself flinching repeatedly, attempting to guide them away gently with both hands.

Once I made it to the fence at the end of the pond where there were no benches nor people, I turned and walked back through the relentless whir of bees attempting to get to their pollen.

All the while I scanned every bench, expecting Lucille to be quite amused once she caught sight of me swatting away at invisible foes.

Reaching the middle of the park, there was still no sign of her, and I wondered if I had given her the wrong time or location.

That seemed impossible as seeing Lucille again was all I thought about while profusely sweating in a giant pit of rocks with two dozen other men who smelled like they basted in their own perspiration.

Brow furrowed, I turned in a full circle, concerned that she was delayed or unable to meet me. My heart hammered, an anxious feeling in the pit of my stomach. This was supposed to be the first birthday I actually celebrated and it was because of Luci. Surely she had not forgotten. Surely she would have said she was not interested in seeing me.

I started to walk back the way I had come when I turned, bumping directly into Luci's magic bag.

"Oh!" she said. "You turned faster than I was expecting."

The sheer sight of her filled me with immense relief. "I thought you forgot."

Her eyes widened. "Forgot? No, I didn't forget. I've been sitting on the east side of the pond waiting for you," she said.

"You were? I just walked the length of the east side of the park."

Lucille pursed her lips. "Hmmm," she said, gazing around. "Which direction is east?"

I pointed in the direction I had come from and Lucille slowly nodded.

"Ah. I was on the west side then," she said. "Right over there on that little plot of grass with the blanket."

I looked down my nose at her and shook my head, feeling as though I should not have been surprised. "I should have suggested a landmark rather than east or west."

"Yes, indeed you should have," she said, playfully admonishing me. "Come on, then, I have a light meal prepared."

We walked together, side by side toward a large yellow and white checkered blanket. Despite not being one for lying on the grass with the insects, I joined her beneath a tree in the shade.

"We said no gifts, correct?" I asked, eyeing the basket beside her.

"No gifts," she agreed. "But I made food."

To me, that absolutely counted as a gift and quite possibly my favorite gift at that.

"Food doesn't count as a gift," she said as if reading my anxious thoughts.

I couldn't help but smile back at her as she opened the basket and unloaded bread, cheese, and grapes.

"How have you been?" I asked.

"Fine," she answered, but her smile seemed forced. "You?"

"Exhausted," I answered, flexing my hands.

In the letters we exchanged, I had already told her about the fourteen hour days at the quarry and how one of the other artists had broken his foot when a block of marble had been dropped on it.

She frowned at my hands. "You need to protect your hands, Fway-lawn."

"I have gloves," I replied. "I wear them almost constantly, but the heat is oppressive and the moment I take off my gloves I manage to bust up my knuckles or cut my hand."

"You are an excellent artist, very skilled with your hands," she said. "You need to take better care of them before your fingers turn to nubs."

I wasn't sure if her comment about skilled hands was suggestive in nature or if I had thought too much of it given the amount of time I'd spent with a bunch of burly and disgustingly sweaty men who spent every minute of the day smoking and complaining.

"I'm not the best with my hands," she said, nibbling on a piece of cheese as she watched two people in a rowboat pass by. "You know what I am good at?"

I lifted a brow, tearing off a piece of bread, positive that whatever she said next was going to be unexpected.

"Oral," she answered.

I blinked at her in stunned silence.

"I'm good with my mouth," she said as if her original comment needed more clarification.

If I had actually consumed the piece of bread I had pinched between my thumb and forefinger, I undoubtedly would have choked. Instead, I gaped at her for what felt like an eternity, my mind refusing to believe what she had said aloud.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Luc-Lucille," I said at last. "Surely you heard what you just…proclaimed."

Luci continued eating, popping a grape into her mouth. "I beg your pardon?"

"Think about what you just said."

"I know what I said."

"I don't think that you do."

"Yes, I said that I'm good with–" Her lips parted, face, neck, and ears reddening upon realization. "Oh my goodness. Why didn't you stop me?"

"How could I have possibly stopped you?"

"You could have put your hand over my mouth!"

"Is that what I could have done?"

"Yes."

"This is my fault, then?" I questioned.

"Partly. Shame on you, Phelan Kimmer."

Try as she might, Lucille couldn't hold back her grin and I couldn't help but chuckle, which made Lucille start to laugh as well. It was not a polite, ladylike chuckle, but the sort of reaction that turned into tears in her eyes and gasping for a breath.

"Stop it," she said. "That…that was not what I meant, Phelan, and you know it."

"But you said it," I pointed out. "You absolutely know that you said it and then you had the audacity to blame me."

We were both doubled over in laughter, earning looks from people passing by. Luci toppled onto her side, face covered with both hands, her laughter turning into squeaks like a hysterical mouse.

When she dared to pull her hands away, her complexion was mottled and her dark eyes still very much filled with tears of sheer amusement, even after several moments.

"Stop it," she warned, barely able to catch her breath. She reached out to me and I took her hand.

"I'm barely laughing."

"Well, stop looking at me," she said. "Stop looking at my mouth."

That was all it took to send us both into nearly hysterical laughter like two fools on display in the park. I turned away from her, my hand still touching hers, and cleared my throat.

"Tell me when I can look at you again," I said, leaning back on one elbow.

"At this rate, never."

"Well, that isn't fair. I came all of this way to see you again and now I cannot look in your direction?"

I risked a glance and saw her smiling sweetly back at me. She took a breath and nodded. "I believe I've recovered."

"Good. Happy birthday, Luci," I said.

Luci looked up at me and smiled. "Happy birthday, Lan."

Regretfully I pulled my hand away, sat upright, and reached into my shirt pocket.

"Close your eyes and hold out your hand," I requested.

Lucille gasped. "Fway-lawn, we said no gifts."

"It's hardly a gift," I explained.

She held out her hand, lips pursed and eyes fixed on mine briefly.

"Eyes closed," I reminded her.

With a sigh, she did as I requested, and I placed the small piece of marble into her palm. Immediately she furrowed her brow as if in deep concentration.

"Shall I guess what it is?"

"If you want." I replied.

"Hmm. It's very hard and very warm," she said.

"My God," I said under my breath. "Lucille."

Luci cleared her throat. "I heard what I said. May I open my eyes?"

"Please do."

The minute her eyes popped open, she looked at her open palm and gasped.

"Oh!" she said. "I love it!"

Her words could not have pleased me more, and I found myself grinning back at her.

"What is it?" she asked next, turning it over in her hand.

"It's…it's Elvira," I said.

"Oh, it's perfect."

Apparently not perfect or a very good representation of my macaw, considering Lucillle's words.

"It was practice," I said. "The first piece of marble I removed from the quarry myself."

Luci gasped and hugged the small piece of stone to her chest. "The very first piece of marble and you are giving it to me? Are you sure you don't want to keep it for yourself?"

"I'm positive," I answered.

"My own miniature Elvira," Luci said, examining the marble figurine. "Oh, I shall keep her in my bag."

There was truly no greater compliment that could have been bestowed upon my little piece of marble. If Lucille had been sitting in closer proximity to me, I would have leaned toward her and kissed her cheek, but the basket was in the way and the plates would undoubtedly have been knocked over.

Lucille reached out to me with her free hand, grinning back at me on the blanket we shared. I settled for her hand in mine, which as innocent of a gesture as it was, still happened to make it the best birthday I'd ever celebrated.

oOo

"You know that you are under no obligation to attend tonight's poetry reading," Luci reminded me as we left the park.

"I am aware," I said, taking the basket from her. I offered to take her bag as well, but she declined, which I expected.

"But you still want to attend?"

I wanted to do whatever meant we were able to spend time together. If she wanted to stare at paint drying on a fence, I would have agreed.

"Of course," I answered.

"Aren't you bored at the poetry readings?" she asked.

I knew nothing of poetry and didn't necessarily enjoy listening to other poets read their work, but I did enjoy Luci's readings.

"Why would I be bored?"

"Because some of the poetry is boring."

I blinked at her. "How can you possibly say that about other poets?"

"Berthe," she said. "You cannot convince me that her tone when speaking doesn't lull you to sleep. Or that Profundo's voice isn't like a carriage on a bumpy road. He warbles like a bird. It's distracting."

"Lucille," I admonished. "My goodness, if you were at our salon critiquing in that manner I'd have to ask you to leave."

"You would not."

She may have been correct. It would have been difficult for me to have to tell her she was dismissed from the group for not having constructive criticism.

"At this current moment, my biggest critique is the speed of your walking," I said, turning my head to the side as I issued a significant look.

"I wasn't born with giraffe legs like you," she pointed out.

"No, you were not, but I have a solution."

"What is your solution?"

Jump on my back," I suggested. "I'll carry you just until we reach the end of the park."

"You will not."

"I absolutely will."

"But you have the basket."

"So?"

I could tell by the look in her eyes that she was tempted, but not fully convinced.

"What if I fall off?"

"You will not fall off," I assured her.

Lucille looked around. "Can we be arrested for this?"

I furrowed my brow. "What exactly is the crime we are committing? If anything, your leisurely pace is criminal."

Again she looked around. "Just to that lamp post," she said, nodding ahead.

I inhaled. "Alright then."

Unexpectedly, Luci started to take a running leap, but I turned to face her. "Let me squat down a bit first," I said.

Her cheeks reddened. "I see you are an expert on this particular manner of travel."

"On the count of three, hands on my shoulders and jump as high as you can."

She inhaled and nodded. I turned, feeling her hands on my shoulders before I began to count. The first time, she jumped too soon, the second time she didn't jump at all, and the third time she managed to practically climb up my back like a squirrel to a tree.

"This is ridiculous," she said as I carried her past the lamp post.

"It is, yes," I agreed.

She leaned forward, arms around my neck, soft breaths on my neck and cheek.

"You can put me down whenever you like."

"Do you want me to put you down?"

"I do like the view, but you can release me at the next lamp post."

"As you wish."

We were almost to the next lamp post when I spotted Cecil strolling through the park, dodging bicycles and pedestrians alike. He appeared nothing short of perturbed by his fellow citizens, his expression held in a sneer.

Lucille saw her brother apparently at the same time as me and loosened her grip around my neck.

"Phelan," she whispered, tapping me on the shoulder.

"I see," I said, allowing her to slide down.

There were enough people in the park where Cecil didn't immediately see us, which gave Lucille enough time to straighten her skirt and walk beside me, gaze held straight ahead and posture abnormally stiff.
"I should go," Lucille said under her breath.

"Why?"

"Because Cecil will say something."

"Relax," I said, leaning toward her. "We've done nothing wrong."

"Cecil always finds something wrong."

"Well, if that is the case I will accept the blame."

"Phelan–"

Before she could finish speaking, Cecil waved in our direction and trotted toward the two of us.

"Lucille," her brother sternly said. "Where have you been?"

"In the park," she answered. "Why?"

Cecil scoffed. "Why do you think, you forgetful girl?"

Luci's face turned bright red. "I don't know, Cecil. That's why I'm asking."

Cecil tossed his arms dramatically in the air. "Honestly, Lucille, each day you are more trouble than you're worth. I am seriously considering selling you off to the highest bidder, but I doubt I'd get much for you."

"Cecil," I said sharply. "There is no need to treat your sister with so little respect."

Cecil seemed to take notice of me for the first time. "Kimmer," he said. "Forgive me, but you don't know what it's like living with this one."

Lucille bowed her head, appearing utterly mortified by her brother's behavior.

"Why don't you tell her what she is forgetting rather than shaming her?" I questioned.

"You have an appointment in two hours," Cecil said, having the audacity to clap his hands at her as if she were a child being told to make haste. "Go on, Luci, return home and change into something nicer. You're covered in grass and your skirt is wrinkled. What on earth have you been doing?"

Cecil's scrutinizing gaze traveled from Lucille to me. He shook his head and rolled his eyes.

"Good day to you, Professor Kimmer. My apologies for Lucille's appearance."

"There is nothing wrong with your sister or her appearance," I said firmly. I turned from him to Lucille and offered my arm. "I'll walk you home."

"That's not necessary, Professor Kimmer," Cecil replied. "I will take her from here."

"I insist, Monsieur La Behr," I said.

"You needn't burden yourself with her."

"It's no burden whatsoever. In fact, I consider it a pleasure."

Cecil looked as though he considered arguing with me, but exhaled. "Go on then," he said, shooing Lucille away. "I'll be home in an hour and you had better be making yourself presentable."

Cecil briskly departed, muttering to himself until he was out of earshot. Once he was gone, I faced Lucille.

"Your brother is so charming," I dryly said. "The absolute life of the party."

"My God, he is intolerable," she said through her teeth. "At least a half-dozen times I wanted to slap him while he was speaking."

"Good because you have no idea how much self-restraint it takes to keep from punching your brother in the face."

Luci's hand gently rested on my forearm. She looked up at me, then at my left hand, which I used to carry the basket.

"Forgive me, I should have asked you this earlier, but how is your arm?" she asked.

It had been fully healed for weeks, but I appreciated her concern.

"Back to normal for the most part, which is disappointing as there is still a scar, but it's no longer bruised."

She grasped my right arm tighter. "You said that it no longer hurts though? Where the bruise was, I mean to say."

"Yes, I did say that," I answered. "It's very odd, but not in a bad way, I suppose."

In the weeks that followed my brother's death and the deep bruise healing, my forearm had gone from excruciatingly painful at the slightest touch to me being unable to feel anything at all. The lack of feeling was a bit unnerving at first, but as time went on, I found it preferable to burning night and day, as my wrist and the base of my thumb still throbbed.

"I'm glad it doesn't hurt," Lucille said. "I hate to think of you in pain."

I knew Luci spoke sincerely, such was the kindness she had consistently shown me. The way that she looked at me and smiled in relief because the bruise had healed and I was not in excruciating pain was completely foreign to me.

"If you want me to put more salve on it…" she offered.

"Thank you, but I don't believe the salve will make a difference."

Luci took my hand and examined my knuckles. "But your hands…" She looked up at me with her soft, brown eyes.

"I suppose my hands could use a bit of care," I replied.

My answer seemed to satisfy her. "I have the salve in my bag and will take care of you straight away. And I'll make certain your arm doesn't need a small amount as well."

There was no use arguing with her over my arm as she had clearly made up her mind that I was in need of her care.

It still caught me by surprise that she volunteered to touch the ruined flesh on my left arm. Several times after we had played tennis, she requested that I roll up my sleeve so that she could apply salve to encourage blood flow to the bruise and help it heal.

No one had ever asked to view or touch the scar tissue out of concern. I had rarely been offended by reactions of sheer repulsion as I was aware of the unsightly, puckered flesh.

But Luci? Luci had never wrinkled her nose or held her mouth in a grimace. She was more concerned with my discomfort than what the scar looked like or how it felt against her fingertips. She wanted to apply the salve and bandage my arm, and oddly enough, I found that I wanted her to care for me. That had never happened before with anyone.

"What appointment are you apparently forgetting?" I asked once we were out of the park.

Luci released a sigh of aggravation. "Not one I want to attend."

"Why is that?" I asked.

"Because I've told Cecil a dozen times I am not interested?"

"Not interested in what?" I asked, amused by how she seemed to be walking faster, fueled by her anger.

"A man," she answered.

While her pace increased, mine slowed.

"Ah," I said.

"His name is Wilbur," Luci said.
"Wilbur? Who is Wilbur?"

Surely it had to be a distant cousin, someone who had a dreadful hook nose and hair protruding from his ears.

"A suitor. Cecil thinks I am dining with Wilbur tonight at the Glass Frog before a play."

My breath hitched. Dinner with a man named Wilbur at the prestigious Glas Frog seemed quite serious–at least I assumed it did to Cecil, who apparently had gone through a bit of trouble to arrange the evening on his sister's behalf.

"Isn't that awful? A man named Wilbur Wilvetlis," Luci groused.

"Wilbur Witless?"

"No, it's Wil-vet-lis." Lucille made a face. "That should be his name though. Wilbur the Witless Fool."

"What time are you meeting the witless fool for dinner?" I asked.

"I'm not meeting him for dinner. I told Cecil to cancel the whole thing."

"I don't believe Cecil has canceled."

"I know," Luci said. "But he will be the one to explain my absence to Wilbur Witless. I will be at my poetry reading with you," she said brightly. "Cecil can enjoy a romantic dinner and a play with Wilbur if he chooses. I wish the best for the two of them."

"Cecil won't be angry?"

"I'm sure he will be, but that's nothing new."

My distinct preference was to have Lucille to myself, but she wasn't mine. We were not courting and we were not lovers. I had kissed her perhaps two or three times since April, mostly because I had been in Italy for the summer, but even so, we were not romantically involved.

What we enjoyed was actually far more involved than what I would have previously considered a romantic relationship. Luci wrote to me and I wrote back to her. When we were together, we spent hours talking over cortado and coffee or a tin of cinnamon rolls. We met at the university swimming pool and at the tennis courts. Sometimes we merely sat together, her with her notebook writing poetry while I sketched, words barely exchanged, but her company was still enjoyable.

Each time I had the pleasure of seeing Lucille La Behr, I discovered something new about her, and within weeks–despite my absence from the city–I knew her in ways I'd never known anyone and she knew me in ways I had never allowed anyone else to see.

Physically we had not been together, and I had abstained from other sexual partners since the end of April, which had not been nearly as difficult as I first anticipated. I found I had no true desire to sleep with different women several times a week, not when I looked forward to Luci's company.

Wilbur the Witless was an unexpected obstacle, one that I had not anticipated to ruin my thirty-fifth birthday, let alone the rest of my year.

"You've never met this man before?" I asked.

"Briefly a while back," she admitted.

"What's he like?"

"Why do you want to know about Wilbur Witless?"

"So that I can feel quite sorry for him being rejected by Luci Light."

Luci huffed. "Well, he's fairly tall, somewhat handsome, and he works for his father."

Quite frankly, there was not nearly enough wrong with him. In fact, he sounded quite nice.

"His father owns a business?" I asked.

"Wilvetlis Boilers," Luci answered. "Wilbur is a salesman for his father's company."

"He must make a decent living."

Lucille removed her hand from my arm. "I'm not interested in Wilbur, his boilers, or his decent living."

We approached her townhouse. "What is Cecil going to say if you cancel the meeting or don't show up at all?"

"He will tell me I'm ungrateful, immature, I give him a terrible headache, and he's going to be forced to take care of me until I'm an old lady with no prospects of marriage."

"What if you just…show up at dinner and humor Cecil and Wilbur?"

"Show up?" She incredulously asked.

Immediately I regretted my inquiry.

"Is that what I should do? Simply show up to dinner and humor my brother and a man he wants me to court with the intentions of receiving a proposal by the end of the summer so that I will be wed by winter and finally no longer my brother's unbearable burden?" She spoke without taking a single breath.

"I just…I don't want Cecil to be angry with you if you…"

"If I what? Disobey my brother?" she asked, lifting a brow. "Is that my worst possible fate in this situation?"

"No. I suppose it is not."

I looked away from her and frowned, feeling as though I had unintentionally started an argument with her over something neither of us wanted.

"Phelan."

I met her eye again and Luci searched my face. "Do you want me to skip my poetry reading and spend the rest of my birthday with a man I have no interest in meeting?"

"No, of course not," I replied. "My apologies for making a terrible suggestion."

"Perhaps the solution is a threesome," she said.

Naturally, Luci had no idea what her words implied. I raise a brow. "I beg your pardon?"

"A threesome," she said. "You, me and Wilbur. How does that sound?"

That was not my preference involving three people.

"Luci do you know what a…never mind."

Confusion settled in her gaze. "No, tell me," she insisted.

I leaned in closer to her. "Do you know what a threesome is?"

"It's three people out to dinner," she said with an unfortunate amount of confidence.

"Luci," I said, placing my lips to her ear. "It isn't three people at dinner."

"Then what is…" She drew back from me after I whispered in her ear. "It is not."

I nodded, smiling to myself. "It is. I would advise you not to go around saying you are interested in a threesome."

Luci huffed. "Shame on you for knowing these things," she said, swatting at my arm.

"My apologies," I said with a chuckle. Her innocence was going to be my unraveling. I was certain of it.

She offered a close-lipped smile and stepped closer to me. "I accept your apology and a cortado tomorrow morning," she said.

"I owe you a cortado as well?" I asked.

Luci nodded. "Yes, at least one cortado. Possibly two."

It seemed like a very reasonable price to pay to keep Luci from Wilbur.

"I will meet you at the salon," she said.