Chapter Eighteen
No sooner than I had turned around and nestled back against the bench after watching Dina’s trench-coated frame disappear into the backdrop, I heard a familiar snuffing, followed by a wet nose in the ear.
“Would you believe me if I told you that Nicoh wanted to stretch his legs?” Martin came around the bench but stopped short of sitting down. Taking measure of my twisted mouth and squinted eyes, he raised a hand.
I absently scratched Nicoh, more to encourage him to cease his investigation into my inner ear canal, but still using the distraction as an opportunity to allow the silence to linger. Martin shifted from leg to leg and began whistling—a pet peeve of mine. Finally, unable to take it any longer, I rolled my eyes, stood, and gestured for him to speak.
He stopped
