“He speaks French now,” I teased, folding my arms over my chest with an arched brow.
“And I speak just enough Swiss German to tell you to bug off, too, if needed.”
He quipped those words without so much as a glance my way, and I chuckled, shaking my head as I made my way farther into his condo. It was a very similar layout to mine, though a bit smaller, and filled with ornate furniture, curious art, and trinkets that evidenced the many travels he’d had in his lifetime. Old books and maps and globes decorated the space, most of the furniture antique wood of some kind, everything warm and a bitmusty smelling even in a brand-new condominium building. He was old money rich, the kind where his parents and his parents’ parents never had to worry.
“I’m going to bring your furniture in,” I told him.
“Ah, so that’s why you barged in on this fine afternoon,” he said. The wind whipped angrily outside just as he said it. “How silly of me to think you might be joining me for a glass of brandy and a good conversation.”
“Safety first, booze second. Make mine a scotch, will you?”
Otis waved his weathered hand at me, but his smile was warm as he nodded, mouthingthank you. I nodded in return, a silent gesture to let him know there was no thanks necessary.
Otis was eighty-nine years old, a white man with most of his hair missing, other than little tufts of white lining the lower half of his skull. He had more hair coming out of his ears, if we were being honest. He slumped forward a bit even when standing, working hard to lift his head up to sass me, and he had a cane that he only used half the time he should be.
I met Otis at an Ospreys game last year when he was honored as our season ticket holder of the game. He’d been one ever since the organization was founded, and we hit it off quickly when he came to the locker room for pictures and to get autographs from the team.
When I was leaving the stadium that night, walking over to my condo, I noticed him as I approached the building. Stubborn old man had walked from the arena after the game, too, and it’d taken him so long to walk that I’d had time to have our game debrief, shower, and answer interviews and still caught up to him.
I’d walked him the rest of the way home, pleasantly surprised to find that he was my neighbor just a few doors down. Since then, he’d sort of… stuck. It was like I’d fed a stray cat and nowhe’d just show up on my doorstep from time to time wondering what was for dinner.
I’d never admit it to him or anyone else, but I liked his company.
And I forced him to let me help him, whether he liked it or not.
I listened to him charming Mia with a smile on my face as I moved his outdoor chairs and couch inside, pushing the furniture as much out of the way as I could. He had a few plants on his balcony, too, and I made sure to collect them before I shut the sliding glass door. It wasn’t raining too hard just yet, but the wind was already picking up, and the last thing anyone needed was this old man’s furniture or plants becoming projectiles in this storm.
I shook off the bit of rain that had gathered on me, taking off my shoes and setting them aside as I made my way toward where Otis and Mia were in the kitchen. Otis was regaling Mia with a story of his sailing days.
But Mia’s eyes were on me.
I thought she looked even less likely to stab me in my sleep now, her gaze soft and curious, head tilted just a bit to the side. I offered a small tilt of my lips, and as soon as I did, she blinked, her expression hardening as she turned back to Otis and dutifully ignored me as I approached them.
So much for progress.
“What are you doing now, you rascal?” Otis asked as I opened his pantry.
“Making sure you have enough food and water should we lose power for a few days and be trapped by flood waters.”
“Oh, I’ve been in Florida for most my life,” he said, batting the air with both hands. “We’ll be just fine.”
“Maybe. But just in case, always best to be prepared. Right, boy scout?” I patted him on the head as I passed, Mia chuckling abit as the old man growled at me and swung too slow to actually hit me.
“Impossible, this one,” he muttered to Mia. I noticed he’d poured them each a glass of brandy, and a tumbler of scotch waited for me beside them. “Doesn’t know how to leave this old man alone.”
“Like you don’t show up at my place like a lost puppy nearly every other night during the offseason.”
“I’m bored without hockey. You’re a last resort to cure that boredom.”
“It’s okay to say you love me, Otis.”
“Love you like a thorn in my backside.”
But he smiled as he said it before he was back to charming Mia with more tales of his worldly travels.
On inspection, I found Otis did have a pretty decent amount of nonperishable food to get by, as well as a case of water. He did not, however, have a lantern or any kind of flashlight. After a quick jog down the hall to my place, I supplied him with a couple of mine, filled his bathtub with water just in case, and only then did I accept the liquor with my name on it.
“Cheers, old sport,” I said, tapping his glass with mine. “M’lady,” I said to Mia as I tapped hers.
