Chapter Two
Tennyson Bryson Black
“Pops,” I called into the apartment as I let Gomez off of his leash. Pops wasn’t my dad, or any relative, actually. But for some reason, when he’d asked me to call him Pops instead of his given name, Carl, it felt right.
This crappy apartment building was as close as I had to a home base.
“In here,” he called out from his small galley kitchen.
Gomez took off—or took off as much as his old self could—in the direction of Pops. That dog loved the old man more than he loved a steak. I couldn’t blame him. Pops was my confidant, never judging me or the horrible life decisions I constantly made the way my family did.
Not that I agreed they were horrible, if that were the case, I’d not continually make them. Traveling was in my blood, and if that meant not having a nine-to-five job and being stuck in a cubicle just because I had a degree, so be it. It wasn’t a lifestyle I could keep up forever, though. Eventually I would, as my mother often said, “grow up and get a real job,” but that time was not in the foreseeable future.
“You seem pensive.” Pops came out with two cups of coffee.
“Yeah. I just got thinking about all of this.” I swished my hands around as if that made any sense.
“You still upset about not getting that professorship?”
Was I? No. But he understood me well enough to put together that whenever I was getting my thinking face on, wrinkling my nose the way I was, my past failure was never far from the surface.
“Nah, I was just thinking about a guy I met on my walk.” Or trying not to think of him as the case might be. Sexy and funny and awkward…and his scent. I had been sure I had stumbled upon a new bakery when the cinnamon and anise scents first tickled my nose. But no, it was him. All him.
“Single?” Pops handed me a coffee and nodded to the chair that had become mine on my frequent visits. He hobbled to his recliner, the boot on his foot thumping with his steps.
I settled in my seat, taking a long sip. Pops wouldn’t let that question go unanswered. He had this way of making sure I confessed all things.
“I didn’t get that far. He had a dog named Shrimp.” And an ass I wanted to sink into, but I left that part out.
“Was he small?” Pops tipped his coffee back for another gulp.
“He was a hot dog.”
“You should’ve told him Gomez was named Grits.” Pop put his coffee down only long enough to push himself up on his booted leg and snag it again. He was never one to let a cup of coffee get cold and was ready for a refill. In the days after his surgery, I’d offered to refill his coffee when I stopped by to see how he was, but Pops went on and on about how he didn’t need coddling, so I let him hobble off, following him as I drained my cup.
“Grits?” From what I saw on TV cooking shows, they were like small bits of oatmeal or something, and I failed to see how that was relevant to the hottie I’d met.
“Shrimp and Grits?” He looked over his shoulder and attempted to roll his eyes as I rolled mine in response. “You’re such a Northern boy.” It wasn’t the first time he’d said as much. And it was true. For all my travels outside the US, back home I stayed in the north. If I was going to be attacked by a scorpion or a gator, I at least wanted to have it be in an exotic place.
“Says the man born and raised here.”
“Details.” He swished his hand as if brushing my silliness away and reached for my mug to refill it. “You still leaving tomorrow for Asia?”
“Naw. Decided to stay closer to home. I’m heading up to Canada to see what I can see.” I had been all about Asia, but then Pops looked like he might need me to stick around more, so I opted for someplace much closer. I could still indulge my travel craving but would be close enough to home if he needed me. Not that I’d admit that to him. He wanted to believe he was far more independent than he actually was while he mended. And he was doing far better far sooner than they originally expected because—stubborn.
“Montreal?”
I nodded as I accepted my cup back. “That’s my favorite. All the amazing food, and you don’t need to go outside if the weather stinks because you can travel around on their subway or whatever it is they call it.” He talked on and on about all things Montreal as we finished our coffee, standing in the tiny excuse for a kitchen. By the time he was done, I had a list of six restaurants to try and the best place to go if I was interested in the seedier side of fun. When he mentioned St. Catherine’s Street, I just nodded and smiled. I very much did not want to know how or why he was so familiar with that stretch of the city.
“Are you sure you have everything worked out with Gomez?” I asked for the third time that week. I might’ve loved that dog as much as Pops did.
“Yeah. Some professional dog walker is coming. It’s all good.” He pulled the flier off the fridge with the guy’s contact information. “See?”
“Yeah, Pops, I see.” I put mug in the sink. “I gotta go get last-minute things done, and I’ll be back at six to walk Gomez. I’m bringing either pizza or Indian. Which?” If I asked if he wanted me to bring anything, he’d say he was fine and eat a frozen dinner, but if I was doing it anyway, he usually gave a preference.
“Ha. Neither.” He opened the fridge, pointing to a pan inside. “Mrs. Johanson in 3B brought this down thinking you had already left. We shall eat like kings.”
“Mrs. Johanson is sweet on you,” I sassed. She was a widow around the same age as Pops and had been after him since I moved in, often sighing that he was a good one, being able to drive at night and all. Gosh. I hoped that never became my barometer for a good catch. Although he was. And if Mrs. Johanson was Mr. Johanson, he might’ve been interested.
“She appreciates where I stand, and this is cheesy-potato casserole with ham.” He shrugged.
“I’ll leave the takeaway at the store then.” I chuckled as I said my good-bye and walked across the hall to my own place.
Walking inside, I was reminded how very much it wasn’t really home. Sure, my things were there, what things I had, anyway. I’d downsized since being turned down from the professorship. No sense holding onto all my office-type furniture and resource books if I was going to be traveling. And unlike Pop’s place, mine was a studio, so most of my things had to be purged simply to fit.
My backpack sat in the corner, already full of what I’d be bringing on my journey. Unlike in past trips, I wasn’t sure of my final destination. Canada was ginormous, and while I’d definitely be hitting up Montreal and Toronto and the Eastern coast, that was as far as I managed to nail down.
I looked in the fridge to see what, if any food I had left for lunch. Condiments and moldy cheese were all I found. The freezer held some ice-cube trays and a Ziplock bag of hot dogs so freezer burned, it took me longer than it should’ve for me to figure out what they were.
Hot dogs.
Shrimp.
And I was back to thinking about the sexy omega I’d met along my walk. Had I not been leaving, I’d have grabbed his number. No, that was a lie. He was better than a one-time thing, and that was all I could offer. I held crappy jobs to save money to come back home and repeat the process when cash got low. No man wants to start a relationship with that.