not looking. He adores you. He loves you so much it hurts. It hurts me to see him look at you like that."
I sighed and rubbed my face. "Is there a point to all this?"
"Yes." She stood up again and gathered her belongings. "This time, you're the one with the power to fuck this up." She leaned forward again and looked straight into my eyes. "Don't fuck it up." She gave me one last look, and left.
Shit.
I looked into the distance, kind of pissed and kind of realizing that Liz might have a point. What did it say about me that I couldn't remember the last time I'd told my boyfriend that I loved him? Without being prompted?
Nothing good, that was for sure.
If there was a romantic in our relationship, it was Pete. He was the one who left notes in my lunch or stuck to the bathroom mirror. He was the one who whispered in my ear in bed. He was the one who almost always initiated the cuddling, who was the touchy-feely one of the two of us by far.
Except for that weird little episode last night…
I groaned inwardly and rubbed my face again. I was a shitty boyfriend.
I did love Pete. Maybe more than I’d loved anyone else, if I was honest with myself. And I did a pretty lousy job of showing it.
Well, I could change that. It would take some effort because it didn't come naturally to me to be romantic or cuddly. I'd just have to consciously make the effort until it became second nature.
Fake it 'til you make it. Except I wouldn't be faking it.
Okay. I was going to start right now.
I pulled out my cell phone and clicked on the Messages icon. I typed in, "Hey, you, <3" and sent it to Pete's phone.
I slid my phone into my pocket. I was slinging my computer bag over my shoulder when I felt my phone vibrate. I pulled it out and clicked on my message.
"<3 u2. :-)"
I smirked a little to myself. This romantic shit might be kind of fun.
The rest of October flew past. We didn’t hear anything from Jennifer, the police, or anyone connected with the TV show for a couple of weeks. I’d nearly forgotten about it when, on October 30, I got a phone call from Detective Belardo. He said the investigation into the piece of paper hadn’t turned up anything interesting and the murder case was turning cold, but he wanted to bring me up to date, as he’d promised. We scheduled a meeting for the following day. I asked Belardo if he could bring me a photocopy of the fragment, and he said he could.
The next morning I met the detectives outside. Belardo and Eckhoff were waiting for me at the edge of the sculpture garden, and Belardo handed me the copied page. I said, "So the paper turned out to be nothing special?"
"That's right." Belardo took his notepad out of his pocket to refer to it. "We took it to an antique book dealer in town on the recommendation of the art theft unit. The dealer examined it and said it had been aged to look old. It had clearly been done by a talented artist, but whoever that was was probably either trying to pull a scam or was working on an art project of some sort. More likely the latter."
I nodded. "Okay, that makes sense. But then why would someone kill for it?"
Belardo shrugged. "Who knows? The thieves obviously thought they had something valuable, even though they didn't? Most criminals are not the brightest bulbs in the pack. We still need to find our killer, but now it turns out we're not looking for anyone with any kind of expertise."
Eckhoff grinned. "Yeah. Just your run of the mill dumbass murderer."
"Huh. Well, thank you for letting me know. I appreciate the follow up."
"Sure, no problem." The detectives left. I carried the copy of the fragment back into my office and tucked it into my computer bag. So the police hadn’t consulted anyone at UCLA after all. Interesting. I knew a couple of antique book dealers; I wondered which one they’d shown the paper to.
I had an idea.
November
The next Saturday, it was sunny but cool. We didn’t have anything planned, and slept in. When we woke up,
I sighed and rubbed my face. "Is there a point to all this?"
"Yes." She stood up again and gathered her belongings. "This time, you're the one with the power to fuck this up." She leaned forward again and looked straight into my eyes. "Don't fuck it up." She gave me one last look, and left.
Shit.
I looked into the distance, kind of pissed and kind of realizing that Liz might have a point. What did it say about me that I couldn't remember the last time I'd told my boyfriend that I loved him? Without being prompted?
Nothing good, that was for sure.
If there was a romantic in our relationship, it was Pete. He was the one who left notes in my lunch or stuck to the bathroom mirror. He was the one who whispered in my ear in bed. He was the one who almost always initiated the cuddling, who was the touchy-feely one of the two of us by far.
Except for that weird little episode last night…
I groaned inwardly and rubbed my face again. I was a shitty boyfriend.
I did love Pete. Maybe more than I’d loved anyone else, if I was honest with myself. And I did a pretty lousy job of showing it.
Well, I could change that. It would take some effort because it didn't come naturally to me to be romantic or cuddly. I'd just have to consciously make the effort until it became second nature.
Fake it 'til you make it. Except I wouldn't be faking it.
Okay. I was going to start right now.
I pulled out my cell phone and clicked on the Messages icon. I typed in, "Hey, you, <3" and sent it to Pete's phone.
I slid my phone into my pocket. I was slinging my computer bag over my shoulder when I felt my phone vibrate. I pulled it out and clicked on my message.
"<3 u2. :-)"
I smirked a little to myself. This romantic shit might be kind of fun.
The rest of October flew past. We didn’t hear anything from Jennifer, the police, or anyone connected with the TV show for a couple of weeks. I’d nearly forgotten about it when, on October 30, I got a phone call from Detective Belardo. He said the investigation into the piece of paper hadn’t turned up anything interesting and the murder case was turning cold, but he wanted to bring me up to date, as he’d promised. We scheduled a meeting for the following day. I asked Belardo if he could bring me a photocopy of the fragment, and he said he could.
The next morning I met the detectives outside. Belardo and Eckhoff were waiting for me at the edge of the sculpture garden, and Belardo handed me the copied page. I said, "So the paper turned out to be nothing special?"
"That's right." Belardo took his notepad out of his pocket to refer to it. "We took it to an antique book dealer in town on the recommendation of the art theft unit. The dealer examined it and said it had been aged to look old. It had clearly been done by a talented artist, but whoever that was was probably either trying to pull a scam or was working on an art project of some sort. More likely the latter."
I nodded. "Okay, that makes sense. But then why would someone kill for it?"
Belardo shrugged. "Who knows? The thieves obviously thought they had something valuable, even though they didn't? Most criminals are not the brightest bulbs in the pack. We still need to find our killer, but now it turns out we're not looking for anyone with any kind of expertise."
Eckhoff grinned. "Yeah. Just your run of the mill dumbass murderer."
"Huh. Well, thank you for letting me know. I appreciate the follow up."
"Sure, no problem." The detectives left. I carried the copy of the fragment back into my office and tucked it into my computer bag. So the police hadn’t consulted anyone at UCLA after all. Interesting. I knew a couple of antique book dealers; I wondered which one they’d shown the paper to.
I had an idea.
November
The next Saturday, it was sunny but cool. We didn’t have anything planned, and slept in. When we woke up,
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