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“What the hell kind of a color is mauve?” Bobby asked. It was a rhetorical question, which meant that of course Nigel was going to answer it.
“It’s a light purple, sometimes mistaken for a pink.”
Bobby glared at the other man. How the fuck did he know that? “And what, am I supposed to know that because I’m an Omega?” Infuriatingly, Nigel only shrugged. Bobby tried not to ask but couldn’t stop himself. “How the fuck do you know that anyway?”
“Cum știi asta?” the bartender asked as he wiped down the bar. He was a blonde haired, blue eyed, not unattractive Alpha that seemed to know Nigel well. Which Bobby supposed made sense, since they were in the bar of Nigel’s club. At least he had to give Nigel credit for not making them go through possible décor for “Family Night” at their apartment complex – no, no, Bobby corrected himself, it’s a ‘multi-residential community’ – in the craft room.
“Știu multe lucruri,” Nigel replied with another shrug. Bobby would have liked to know what language they were speaking, but he wasn’t about to ask. Anyone being curious about Nigel gave Nigel way too much satisfaction; the Alpha was clearly full of himself, always flirting with the head of the board of residents to get his way. They’d even let Nigel paint his door a pale blue, but when Bobby’s daughter had gotten ahold of a permanent marker and practiced her abcs all over the hallway’s white walls they wouldn’t let Bobby repaint. They’d charged him.
Bobby had brought that up, naturally, and the board told him too bad, so sad.
So Bobby painted Nigel’s door white again. It would have been fine if Nigel didn’t usually work nights, something Bobby hadn’t but really should have realized, and had arrived home at just after 3am to a paint streaked Omega and a half-white door. It was impossible to claim innocence when caught in the act, although Bobby had witnessed some – a lot of people, in fact – try. None of them succeeded.
He didn’t try, but neither did he apologize.
Nigel didn’t immediately say anything, instead looking Bobby up and down, then opening the door to his apartment, retrieving a blue paint can, and setting it in front of Bobby while saying, “put it back or I call the cops” to which Bobby replied, “I am the cops.”
Bobby said it to get a rise out of the Alpha, but he hadn’t expected Nigel to be as upset as he was, prompting Bobby to ask why Nigel would threaten the cops when he clearly didn’t want them involved. (Bobby figured it was a bluff - it was a door, after all, and he hadn’t done any real damage - but still.)
Bobby had to admit they might have left things there and both walked away thinking the other was an ass, but a neighbor heard them arguing in the hall at 3am and the cops were actually called. Thankfully one of Bobby’s coworkers called him about the noise complaint at his address, which resulted in Bobby explaining the whole embarrassing situation and telling them they didn’t need to show up. He’d have thought Nigel would be grateful, but the Alpha just walked into his apartment and slammed his door, leaving Bobby and two paint cans in the hallway.
And of course the story got around. Bobby hadn’t exactly gotten in trouble at work – “really Bronson, vandalizing a door?” was all he’d heard from his captain, because the police department had bigger fish to fry than people repainting doors at 3am – having it come up at all was annoying as fuck. Not to mention the fact that, thanks to the Board getting wind of things, he’d ended up repainting Nigel’s door. And not white, but robin’s egg blue.
Which, like mauve, was a stupid fucking color.
Bobby wasn’t sure if you could say they had a feud, exactly. But when some of Nigel’s mail had gone missing the Alpha blamed Bobby (it hadn’t been his fault), when one of the plants on Bobby’s patio was knocked over Bobby was sure it was Nigel (Nigel claimed innocence and said plenty of people could get onto a first story patio, which was unfortunately true), and when Nigel’s cupcakes went missing from a community bake sale he accused Bobby of taking them in front of all their neighbors. Bobby hadn’t taken his cupcakes either, but he did smash Nigel’s pumpkin bread in retaliation and called it an accident. (If he tripped and dropped the cash drawer right smack on top of it, well, these things happen.)
Then Nigel had somehow located an old yearbook picture of Bobby in a bunny costume from the Halloween he turned ten. Nigel printed it and posted it on the resident’s notice board with a note that said “guess who?”
Bobby went to the board about that one, but Mrs. Robinson loved Nigel and had only laughed, told Bobby he “used to be such a cutie” and “it’s a shame those looks of yours are wasted on such a surly attitude.”
“Surly attitude my ass,” Bobby muttered.
“What?” Nigel asked and Bobby coughed.
“It’s a stupid color,” he said.
“Doesn’t fucking matter,” Nigel said. Bobby sipped his beer and stared at the Alpha, while Nigel took a sip of water and glared right back. “We fucking voted, the colors are silver and mauve.”
Bobby bared his teeth. What did it really matter anyway? His daughter would love the color scheme and his kids were the whole reason he was involved. Amelia practically begged him to be in charge of setting up the decorations so that she could help him (his son could care less either way). In the end the excitement of a six year old was too much for him and Bobby had caved. But unfortunately parties required planning and meetings that Bobby was now obligated to, while the kids were back with his ex.
And, even worse, he had to work with Nigel.
Why Nigel was in charge of decorations was beyond Bobby. He’d expected he’d be dealing with one of the ladies of the group, or another Omega. Not an Alpha, and certainly not Nigel.
“But if you want, after we put up the streamers you can paint them all fucking white.” Nigel looked far too smug for such a terrible insult.
“Asshole,” Bobby said.
“Why the fuck are you here anyway?”
“You offered me free drinks.”
Nigel briefly looked like he might crack a smile at that one, before forgetting who he was talking to. He turned to his bartender. “Darko, another beer for Bobby and give me one too.”
“Before work, boss?” Darko asked.
“It’s my club, isn’t it?”
“Half yours,” Darko corrected, but started pouring two beers. He set them down in front of Nigel and Bobby and said: “De ce nu te culci cu el deja?”
“Ce naiba te face să crezi că vreau să mă culc cu el?” Nigel scowled.
“Tot timpul petrecut holbându-te la fundul lui.”
“Could you at least talk about me in English?” Bobby groused. Darko laughed.
“I’m being fucking serious, why are you here?” Nigel reiterated.
Bobby took a long drink, hoping it would somehow get Nigel to leave him alone, but the Alpha kept watching him. Fat chance of that, Bobby supposed. “My daughter,” he said, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “She’s six and,” he shrugged. “She likes streamers?”
Nigel seemed surprised. “You have a kid?”
“You know I have a kid,” Bobby glared. Nigel hummed thoughtfully. “I have two kids, actually,” Bobby added, feeling the need not to leave his son out.
“What are their names?”
“Uh, Jackson and Amelia.”
Nigel hummed.
“What?” Bobby sipped his beer again. He was nearly halfway through and was definitely drinking too fast, but Nigel put him on edge.
“They yours?”
“Of course they’re mine.” What the hell kind of a question was that?
“You father them or carry them?”
Bobby choked on his drink, coughing and getting a concerned look from Darko that he waved off. At least one of the Alphas he was with wasn’t a total ass.
“What is this, twenty fucking way too personal questions?”
Nigel smiled. “Just fucking curious gorgeous. I also have an ex-wife. Ran off with another guy. The fucker had the balls to shoot me in the head before he stole her, too. No kids though.”
“Yeah, I really don’t see you as a kid kind of guy.”
Nigel laughed. His laughter was slightly rough, the laugh of someone who’d spent years smoking. “And yet,” Nigel said, “I like streamers.”
“Right,” Bobby said, staring at his empty beer glass and wishing it were full again. Whoever he was to Nigel, Darko was an excellent bartender, because no sooner did Bobby have the thought than a full beer was placed in front of him and his empty glass was removed.
“Wait - shot you in the head?” Bobby swiveled back to look at Nigel.
Nigel pulled his hair back, revealing an obvious bullet wound.
“Holy shit.”
“It’s why I ask twenty fucking way too personal questions. The more connections I have the better I remember you.”
“Is that true?” Bobby asked.
“Course it’s fucking true.” Nigel reached toward the pocket of his shirt and then stopped halfway. “Fucking need a cigarette.”
Bobby looked over at Darko, still wondering about Nigel’s comment, but the bartender only shrugged. Bobby wondered if the man spoke less English than Nigel, or if he was simply quiet. Nigel could certainly carry a conversation.
“So, fathered them or carried them?” Nigel asked, tapping his fingers against the bar. Darko was trying not to look curious and failing.
“Christ. Fathered them,” Bobby answered, annoyed with himself for giving in.
“Most male Omegas have sterile sperm.”
“Thank you, I am aware of that.”
“I always wondered if Omegas with fertile sperm could impregnate themselves.”
Bobby made a face. He could feel himself making it, and couldn’t stop it, but on the other hand that question deserved the face he made. “I’m not some sort of self-replicating robot.”
“Never said you were a robot. How many streamers do you think we need?”
Bobby chugged half his new beer, wishing it were something stronger. He was getting whiplash from this conversation. “Zero. Why the hell are you so excited about streamers?”
“Maybe it’s not streamers. Maybe I just really fucking love the color mauve. Maybe that’s the color I’ll paint my door next. Or maybe I’ll paint your door.”
“Maybe you really love fucking with people,” Bobby said. The alcohol was loosening his anger and he clenched his fist and imagined putting it through Nigel’s stupid fucking face.
“Yeah, that too.” Nigel said. He stood. “I know the owner of the party store down the block. I’ll handle the streamers.”
“Am I supposed to thank you?”
“If you want.” Nigel turned to Darko. “He drinks free all night. Whatever the fuck he wants.”
“You’re only half owner,” Darko said mildly. Nigel flipped him off and walked away.
“I think I need something stronger,” Bobby said, pushing his half drunk beer away from him. Darko reached for a bottle of whiskey and Bobby breathed a sigh of relief. A moment later a shot glass and the bottle were sitting in front of him. Darko poured himself a shot and then one for Bobby.
“Cheers,” the bartender said. His accent was thicker than Nigel’s and for some reason especially thick on that word. Bobby wondered again where they were from. It was hard for him to place Nigel and even with his stronger accent Darko wasn’t making it any easier. Somewhere Eastern European, maybe?
“You can drink during work?” Bobby asked and then shook his head. If Nigel was drinking on the job, why not his staff? Besides it wasn’t as though Bobby had never hit a flask during a bad case. Or one that wasn’t so bad, depending on the day. “Never mind, I really don’t care.”
Darko smiled and clinked his shot glass against Bobby’s. “I’m the other owner.”
Bobby shook his head, laughing soundlessly, and tapped his finger against the empty shot glass. “In that case I think you need another one.” Darko laughed. His laugh was less throaty than Nigel’s. But he winked, lifted the bottle, and poured them each another shot.
“Is he that much of a dick to everyone?”
Darko turned in the direction Nigel had gone and said, “No, only to the people he likes.” Bobby snorted.
*
“And seriously, what the hell kind of a color is mauve?” Bobby punctuated the question by throwing his hands in the air.
“I don’t know, and I can’t see why it matters,” Durst answered mildly. “You’re really stuck on this guy, huh?”
Stuck on him? The only thing Bobby was ‘stuck' on was how annoying he was. “He’s insufferable.” Bobby slumped in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest.
“Why do you still live there anyway? You hate all the resident meetings, and resident activities, and residents themselves.”
“It’s close to my kids.”
“There are other places close to your kids,” Durst said, still sounding annoyingly reasonable.
“Yeah, but they like the pool there.”
Thankfully Durst didn’t say anything else. The truth was Bobby’d thought about moving several times. The place was expensive, right at the upper end of what he could reasonably afford, and there was an unwritten, unspoken, and yet still abundantly clear expectation that he be involved in the community activities. Which he absolutely fucking hated.
But his ex thought it was ‘great’ he was getting involved and that it was a ‘great’ environment for the kids, and she’d been letting him have a few extra nights with them here and there.
And they really did love the pool. Whatever Bobby’s flaws - and he’d been given a rather exhaustive list by his ex during their breakup - he loved his kids. So he stayed. Which meant he got involved. Which meant he was dealing with Nigel and streamers.
Which in turn meant he was nursing the tail end of a hangover from too many shots of whiskey with a bartender he’d discovered was Romanian, had known Nigel since they were children, and had the tolerance of an ox. Or a mule. Bear? Some animal that had an insanely high tolerance for alcohol, because even though they’d gone shot for shot for a while Darko had still been drinking when Bobby left and, as far as Bobby could tell, was completely functional and not slurring his words.
Bobby, meanwhile, had stumbled out the door in search of his Uber and woke up feeling like he’d been hit a bus.
And he was still pissed about the stupid mauve colored streamers. Mauve. Just call it purple. Or pink, even, it was nearly pink.
Bobby was lost in thought when he realized Durst was standing. “Come on, Bronson,” his partner said. “We have actual work to do.”
Streamers would have to wait.
*
Nigel texted toward the end of the day asking Bobby to meet him at the party store. Bobby sighed when he looked at the text. He’d rather Nigel didn’t have his phone number and vice versa, but Mrs. Robinson had put them all in a phone tree for the volunteers.
Great, Bobby thought, looking at the text.
I thought you were going to handle it, he sent back and watched as the three dots appeared, indicating Nigel was responding.
mauve emergency get here as soon as you can
Bobby glared at the words on his phone. Mauve emergency? He had to be kidding. But as he reread the text he couldn’t ignore the prickling at the back of his skull. It was an instinct honed through long years of police work and as Bobby read it for the third time his anger dissipated and he frowned.
There was something wrong.
“I gotta go,” he said to Durst, who gave him a quizzical look. “I’ll come in early tomorrow to finish up the paperwork.”
Bobby didn’t wait for a response. He grabbed his coat from the back of the chair and headed out. He didn’t text Nigel back. If something really was wrong he’d rather not let anyone know he was on his way. And if Nigel was seriously asking him to leave work early over the color of streamers Bobby figured he would give himself a pass if he forgot himself and punched the Alpha in his stupid fucking face.
When Bobby arrived at the party store it looked dark and deserted, despite the hours posted on the door saying it was open until 8pm. Bobby hesitated at the entrance, wondering what the hell was going on. Was the store being robbed? Why hit a party store?
He should call for backup and was about to pick up his phone and call Durst at least, but he stopped before taking the phone out of his pocket. He had a gut feeling it was more than Nigel’s aversion to the police that had the Alpha texting him directly, and if Bobby called attention to himself he might make things worse.
On the other hand, entering a store that was likely being robbed without any backup was a monumentally stupid idea.
Bobby had probably made worse decisions in his life. He unsnapped the cover on his gun holster for easy access and pushed the door open, then cringed as the bell chimed. Should have thought about that one, Bronson, he chastised himself.
“We’re closed,” a voice called from the back. “Come back later.”
“Sorry,” Bobby called back, stepping back to the door and pushing it open so the bell chimed again. He dropped to a crouch behind one of the displays. He couldn’t see the person who’d yelled out to him and this didn’t seem like the type of store that had security cameras.
At least he hoped they didn’t, and that there was no way for whoever it was to see he was still there.
He moved forwarded slowly. Walking in a crouch was uncomfortable and Bobby kept his head on a swivel, checking in on his surroundings as he moved toward the door leading to the back of the shop. It was cracked open and Bobby was positive that was where the voice had come from.
As he got closer he could hear voices coming through the door, speaking low and angrily.
“I didn’t fucking take it.” That was Nigel’s voice and Bobby stilled, focusing on his breathing as he kept himself in a crouch and considered his options. “I’m not into that shit anymore, I fucking told you.”
Someone replied, but Bobby couldn’t make out the words.
“Darko wouldn’t fucking do that.”
More mumbled words.
“Not without fucking telling me. We run a club now. We got out a long time ago.”
“Oh Nigel. We both know you’re never really out.” Bobby didn’t recognize the voice, but the words came through loud and clear because whoever it was had moved to the door and was pressing it open. Bobby darted behind one of the displays as the door to the back swung wide. He didn’t hear anyone step through; whoever it was must be standing in the doorway looking out.
“Your partner should be here by now,” the voice said.
“You saw me text him,” Nigel replied mildly.
“Yeah,” the man snorted. “Mauve emergency. You Romanians have some weird lingo.”
Bobby stifled a gasp. Nigel had taken a huge risk texting him, especially if someone else was looking at his phone.
“He’ll fucking be here,” Nigel said, but Bobby could hear the uncertainty beneath the words. He wondered if Nigel had expected him to come alone, or if he’d thought by texting Bobby he’d get a squad car.
Deep down he thought Nigel expected him to come alone, although he wasn’t sure what Nigel expected him to do. Stand up and point his gun and yell “freeze”? Sometimes that worked, with otherwise law-abiding citizens or people who were scared enough of the consequences.
That wasn’t the case here, and Bobby had no idea what type of weapon the unknown party might have on him. Bobby wasn’t about to stand up and get shot. He had his kids to think about. He bit his lower lip, going through his options again and deciding none of them were good. His best bet was to creep backward through the display and try to keep himself on the other side of the door. If he could get there, maybe he could slam the door into whoever was standing there …
It was almost as bad a plan as standing up and yelling freeze and hoping not to get shot, but it was the only one he had in that moment.
He started creeping backward.
But a moment later whoever it was stepped through the open door and into the main area of the store.
Luck was on his side.
“Did you hear that?” the voice asked, moving closer to Bobby’s location. Bobby froze. He wasn’t going to be able to move backward quickly enough to get out of the man’s line of sight; he was going to have to be ready to act.
He took a deep breath, tensing himself as the man continued to move forward. He was nearly in front of Bobby now, but not looking in his direction. Even from the back he was an intimidating presence. Tall - taller than Bobby or Nigel - and built like a wrestler. The man was thick all over; his neck was at least twice as thick as Bobby’s. His brown hair was cut short allowing Bobby to clearly see the ink that covered at least the back of the man’s neck (and probably the front of it.)
Until that moment Bobby thought maybe he could sweep the man’s legs, but even with the element of surprise he wasn’t going to be able to take down someone who had tree trunks for legs. As Bobby was reevaluating the man turned.
He had a surprisingly nice face. For the briefest of moments it looked almost kind, before the man’s lips curled into a snarl, transforming him into the angry gangster Bobby expected to see. In his left hand he held a switchblade. There was no mistaking who the man was now that Bobby had eyes on him: Caleb Smeade, the muscle for one of the biggest cocaine distributors in the city.
Bobby remembered reading that Caleb preferred blades to guns. Lucky me, Bobby thought. He brought a knife to a gun fight. He resisted the urge to immediately reach for his weapon.
“You’re not who I expected,” Caleb said. His voice was soft, explaining why Bobby hadn’t been able to make out his words to Nigel earlier.
“What the fuck have you gotten me into Nigel?” Bobby asked, looking over the man’s shoulder at the Alpha. No wonder Nigel didn’t want cops involved in his business.
But he’d texted Bobby. Why?
Nigel was standing behind Caleb, giving Bobby a hurt look. Whatever this was, Caleb hadn’t seen fit to tie Nigel up. Was Nigel setting Bobby up?
“Thank you for coming,” Nigel said, his voice strangely polite. His arm shot out before Bobby could respond, grabbing Caleb’s arm and twisting it. The other Alpha hadn’t been prepared for the sudden movement but he recovered quickly, reaching into his pocket with his right hand as he twisted and shoving another knife into Nigel’s side.
Bobby saw it as though it were happening in slow motion: the blade piercing Nigel’s clothing and then his skin millimeter by millimeter, Caleb’s twisted snarl curving wider, Nigel’s mouth and eyes opening wide in shock as the pain registered a moment later.
Bobby didn’t scream. With absolute calm he reached for his firearm, aimed, and shot, hitting Caleb cleanly in the shoulder. He rocked backward with the impact and grunted, but again recovered quickly, turning to Bobby with a snarl. Nigel had crumpled to the floor but he grabbed for Caleb’s ankle.
Maybe an ankle sweep would have done it, or maybe it was the momentum, but Caleb went down with a thud and Bobby scrambled over top of him, glad he’d kept his handcuffs on him as he twisted the other man’s arms roughly behind his back and cuffed his wrists together.
Breathing hard Bobby turned to look at Nigel.
“What?” Bobby asked, bristling as Nigel continued to stare at him.
“Nothing. That was …really fucking hot.”
“I - oh. I need something for his ankles,” Bobby said, turning away to hide his blush. Inappropriate, he thought to himself. He was doing his job. He could see Nigel nodding out of the corner of his eye. Nigel pressed himself up, one hand firmly against his side. Bobby looked at the blood seeping into his shirt worriedly, but Nigel shook his head.
“I’ve had worse.”
Below him, Caleb rocked and Bobby shifted his position so that more of his weight was over the man’s midsection.
There weren’t a lot of options in a party store but Nigel found some twine from one of the pallets that they made do with. Once Bobby was certain the man wasn’t getting up he stood, making his way to Nigel and reaching for his shirt.
Nigel caught Bobby’s wrist. “I told you I’ve had worse."
“Let me look,” Bobby said quietly, looking into Nigel’s eyes and feeling a flutter in his chest. He told himself it was the adrenaline, but when Nigel’s thumb moved across his wrist ever so gently and his heart rate kicked up a notch it was hard to believe that was all it was.
“You want to get my with my shirt off, gorgeous, all you have to do is ask.” Nigel grinned. His fangs were slightly crooked, and that shouldn’t be so endearing.
“You might need stitches,” Bobby said, grasping for balance.
“Bobby,” Nigel said quietly. “I might. But I’ll be ok. Gunshot wound, remember?” He tapped the side of his head with his free hand, smearing a bit of blood on his hair.
“I just - I … don’t want anything to happen to you,” Bobby mumbled the words. Nigel’s grin widened.
“Thanks to you I’ll be fine,” Nigel said. “Right as fucking rain.”
Caleb muttered something into the floor behind them.
“You know I’m going to have to call this in,” Bobby said. He hesitated. “Are you - what are you involved in?”
“Nothing,” Nigel said. “Darko and I, before we left Romania, we were involved in a lot of things. I thought we weren’t well known here. I was wrong. We own a club. That’s it.”
“Then why,” Bobby gestured at the man on the ground. Then with a shocking realization he said, “and what about the owner? You said you knew her.”
“He thought I took something. Or Darko did. I’m not sure why. But Charlie ran out the back when he arrived.”
“Why didn’t she call the cops?” Bobby asked, annoyed.
“I … might have asked her not to.”
“For fuck’s sake Nigel.”
He was about to say more, but Nigel was grinning again and Bobby’s anger was quickly disappearing. “You’re the only cop I like, gorgeous.”
“You hate me,” Bobby said.
Nigel only hummed and leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to Bobby’s lips. “The fuck I do.”
Bobby stood frozen to the spot. The kiss had been entirely unexpected, entirely chaste, and entirely pleasant, and left Bobby wanting more.
A lot more.
“Fuck me,” Bobby muttered. Nigel looked like he had a witty response to that one and Bobby said, “Fuck you,” before the Alpha could say it.
“Both options sound good to me,” Nigel’s eyes were sparkling.
“You’d let an Omega …,” Bobby trailed off. “Nevermind, this is a conversation for another time. I gotta make a fucking call. Don’t go anywhere.”
“I wouldn’t fucking dream of it.”
“Ok, great,” Bobby said, stepping away and calling the precinct.
*
“Should you be doing that?” Bobby asked, watching Nigel stretch to attach a streamer. “You’re going to pop your stitches.”
“Maybe I want you to play nurse later,” Nigel said, winking.
“I like playing nurse too,” Amelia chimed in.
“Maybe not in front of the kid, Nigel,” Bobby said quietly. Nigel’s lips curved into a smile.
“I’ll be on my best fucking behavior,” the Alpha said softly. “As long as you let me kiss you goodnight.”
“Do I get a kiss goodnight too?” Amelia asked.
Dammit. Bobby’d thought they were speaking softly enough and he’d rather this not get back to his ex. Not yet.
Then again … he looked up at Nigel. His ex had no say in who he was seeing, and Nigel was surprisingly good with Amelia.
“Of course you do gorgeous,” Nigel said, aiming his best smile at the little girl standing next to him. She beamed. Nigel crouched, wincing slightly as his stitches pulled and asked, “Do you think your brother wants one too?”
Amelia giggled and Bobby smiled. “He says he’s too big for goodnight kisses,” she informed Nigel solemnly, “but maybe if you tell him you really want to he’d say it’s ok.”
“I’ll offer and let him decide,” Nigel said. He stood with another small wince and looked around the room. “I think we’re done here.”
Bobby had to admit it looked good. There were pink, purple and silver balloons - as it turned out, mauve was a difficult balloon color to get so they’d compromised - and pink streamers that, in the right light, did look slightly purple. “Welcome Families,” was written on poster board in giant letters, and all the game and food stations were set up, waiting for people to man them.
“Are you excited?” Nigel asked, turning to Amelia again. Amelia nodded eagerly.
“But I had the most fun decorating with you and Daddy,” she informed him.
“And you were a big help,” Nigel said, smiled at Bobby over the little girl’s head. “We couldn’t have done it without you.”
“Is it time to say goodnight?” Amelia asked. “Is it goodnight kiss time?”
Nigel gave Bobby an amused look.
“Nigel’s going to have dinner with us later,” Bobby said. “But we have to pick your brother up from baseball practice.”
“Ok,” Amelia agreed. She waved at Nigel. “See you later Nigel!”
Laughing, Nigel leaned toward Bobby and pecked him gently on the cheek. “I’ll give you a better one later,” he whispered and Bobby tucked his chin.
Bobby held his hand out for Amelia to take as they left the community room.
“I like him, Daddy,” she said. “He told me his favorite color is mauve, and that’s a purple that’s almost pink, and my favorite color is purple too.”
“Mauve,” Bobby repeated incredulously and then laughed.
Mauve. Of fucking course.