Chapter SevenLinda never made decisions like this, but as Clive unlocked his front door, she swore that she wasn’t going to second-guess herself. Which, of course, meant that she couldn’t stop doing it.
“Would it be inappropriate for me to ask why we’re here?” Clive was standing in the center of his apartment’s living room.
Thor began sniffing his way around the apartment as she also checked it out.
It was a very guy space. A leather lounger, built on the same scale as Clive—big—faced a large television. Football or cooking shows? She’d bet on the latter.
Beside his chair was a large collection of books in untidy stacks. She looked closer: dessert cookbooks. The walls were mostly decorated with—she moved closer—pictures of chefs shaking hands with Clive and of knit goods. A quick scan
