21Liam had stuffed a note under my door at some point after I’d returned home the night before. While passing through my living room to retrieve a ginormous cup of coffee to cut through the morning haze, I’d spotted it just at the edge of the threshold. There hadn’t been much to it, only telling me that we were meeting in the morning at Ye Old Curio Cupboard, a shop down at the waterfront. There had been no, “Hey, are you okay?”, “Where did you go?”, or “I’m sorry I was such a jackass.” Merely an address and time.
I met him there at ten thirty in the morning. Michael was with him again, obviously to keep us in line and on target. I was pleased with his presence and hoped it would do the job of keeping the peace. Yesterday, I’d done my cull with refined coolness and detachment. Not to ment
