Chapter 4
The flat looked pretty good by the time Fran showed up with a bottle of red wine tucked under one arm and a plate of cheesecake, covered by a clear plastic dome, in his hands. “I brought dessert.”
“Is that from the café?” Dez asked.
“Yes,” Fran admitted with a sheepish grin. He glanced around at the much-cleaner kitchen when he followed Dez in there. “But it’s in date and I swear it doesn’t have any cat hairs on it.”
Dez chuckled. “Put it in the fridge, then. Can I open that wine to breathe?” He took it, got out the corkscrew, and found himself struggling as the twisting movement sent pain lancing through his shoulder. He tried switching hands and nearly fumbled the bottle. “Damn.”
Fran took the bottle before he dropped it. “I’ve got it. Your shoulder bothering you?”
“It’s
