Bishop takes the square; Side street hard boiled mystery

 

After Faun put down the phone, she had the sense that something was wrong as she looked up at Grant; there was slightly more of that troubled look within his intense deep forest eyes with the exception of bright moss in one of them,

“Are you all right?” she had started to move to the cash register to remove the till but he was leaning upon the counter in a brooding manner as he stared dully at the row of volumes of the Oxford English Dictionary, the complete volumes taking up most of the bookcase that was beside the pillar and desk. 

“Erm….” he stared for a moment at the volumes thinking of all the words that must be …. and here he could not find one on how to begin …. finally he looked at her, “I don’t know….” 

The register drawer had popped open with an alarming ring but neither of them seemed aware of it

“Something’s wrong….” Faun said as more a statement than a question 

“Yes—well…. something rather…. quite disturbing and I’m not sure I should bother you with it,” he sighed 

“Is it about the Bishops? —or the bookshop?”

“It’s about Uncle Arthur—well, Arthur I should say as he was not my real uncle as I said and —they married late in life….second marriages, them both ….” he consciously spoke slower now to make sure she caught his words but—he wasn’t sure what he should tell her. Then he shrugged, “damn, I’ll just tell you as this may turn into a—well….I got a call today from the coroner’s office ….”

for a moment those last words hung in the air

At first she wasn’t sure she heard right. 

He watched her face. Such a pretty face too, he thought as he worried now about shocking it, so he raised his dark chestnut thick brooding brows as if to imply his words in case she missed it

It was slightly delayed. She said with s kind of gasp,

“coroners?—you said —did you say coroner’s office?” And her hand went to her throat as she accidentally leaned too hard on the till drawer and it swung back into the register with a loud cash register ring! It was also rather alarming and punctuated the moment 

Grant reached around her and took her first by her slight, narrow shoulders and then outside each arm he placed his hands to move her away from the register,

“yes…. the coroner’s office ….you see, it appears the cause of death was carbon monoxide ….”

“Oh my God!” Faun exclaimed as she thought of the tragedy of Arthur Bishop’s untimely death…. “ I’m so sorry, Grant….” that was the first time she said his name, it just slipped out all on its own and she looked at him

“Well—it’s Aunt Fiona I’m more sorry for….” he said in a hushed tone of regret looking down 

The following silence had Faun’s thoughts considering his words until what he didn’t say dawned,

“oh…. you have to tell her….”

He looked up at Faun now, relieved she connected the dots and then it was the dark, exotic pools of her eyes that lassoed him with their strange almond slant which were looking back at him and now caused him to momentarily forget what he meant to say. 

They were both quiet with their own thoughts for a moment. 

Finally Faun took a deep breath,

“I’ll come with you to tell her—were you going there now?”

Grant let out a sigh of relief,

“yes.”

Faun looked back at the register decisively,

“I’ll balance the till in the morning ….let’s go, we can take my car.”

In the car they were both quiet. It had turned dark and it started to rain as she drove, the wipers on the glass making their antiquated rhythmic sound that felt somehow very reassuring. What is it about old things that can be so comforting in times like this? Faun was thinking. She could have no idea that Grant’s thoughts had been quite similar as he watched the wipers move the rainwater across the windshield making irregular designs where the rubber was coming off the blade

“I should fix that,” he said absently 

“What?” she asked 

She had no idea what he actually said 

But then they were pulling up to the house and suddenly the dreaded deed loomed more uncomfortably for further chat 

“So—I left a message I was coming —so, I expect she knows ….” Grant opened the passenger door and got out.

she had grabbed an umbrella and opened it, raising it high enough over his head as she caught up to him.They walked up the sidewalk together 

The front of the house had high hedges and this gate was flanked not by the usual lions that often decorated pretentious people’s homes but but by two four foot tall, marble, sculpted, chess bishops and for a quick instant Grant paused to caress the top of one,

“he was a good player, I’ll give him that,” he said and glanced back at her before opening the black, iron gate and letting her through before continuing up to the door 

Faun followed behind him, then up the path to the door. 

He knocked, and called through the door,

“Aunt Fiona—it’s me—I’m here with Faun….” 

They waited outside in the dark. 

“No porch light on….” Grant said wondering aloud 

They both looked up to see if there were any lights on in the house that they could see from outside and to get a better view, they both walked back along the front walk to look up at the house to see if any lights were on upstairs. 

“Oh—yes, there—“Faun pointed, “that must be the bedroom—I see a light up there.”

Grant looked up,

“Ok, let’s try again,” he said and went quickly back up the steps to the door.

He knocked. This time the door latch came open and the door swung open.

“Odd,” he said and went in

“I think you should go up alone, maybe she fell asleep and it would be alarming to see both of us in her bedroom,” she said, “I’ll wait a moment—maybe I’ll make tea….?—or ….?”

But she had been here before. And something felt a bit off….the dog!

“Where is King Leopold?”

Grant looked at her and even in the dark it seemed he went pale as a ghost

“Leopold….” he rushed up the stairs 

Faun waited by the door as she watched ….

It seemed an eternity followed ….but was really only less than a minute before she heard him shout,

“Faun!”

She ran up the stairs and followed the light, she found the bedroom and there was Grant standing beside the bed next to…. what was clearly Fiona Bishop but…. she was not moving 

Faun moved slowly to Grant’s side and when she was beside him he said in a barely audible tone,

“oh my god….” he stood frozen, Faun reached for his ice cold hand as he whispered, “I think she’s dead.”

Side street mystery unfolds

 

In the end, that time, it was the shop’s phone ringing that interrupted them,

“….oh I should….” and she started towards the cashier desk where the phone was now ringing ; which was at the center of the ground level, a few feet from the stairs where they had been standing and which lead up to the next floor

he watched her run for the phone, mesmerized by the burgundy folds from the back of her. He watched her every move, somehow drawn—was it her scent or her aura? he didn’t know but pulled to as he was he could see the swell of thigh, which lead to a firm suggestion of —where it lead, to the slightest rounding that the folds clung to from behind with her every step, which captivated his stare as he said,

“I’ll just…lock up….” even as he still watched her furtively, as he moved to lock the two green, painted, wood-framed, glass-windowed doors. He listened to her answer the phone 

“Side-Street Book shop,” she said

She was behind the cashier counter by a dark glossy wood desk that was mounted to the dark wood pillar wall that matched it. It had vertical file shelves all crammed with cards and papers, a huge wrapping paper roll installed on a metal cutter and an antique stapler dominated the surface with a clipboard and legal pad in the center upon which she was scribbling notes. 

and as he came back he heard her responding to the caller’s questions,

She looked up as she saw him walking towards her  

“oh—I see…. well, I don’t see why not, but I’ll have to check with the owner first to see if they normally do this but —if not— I am sure I can get this for you—“ she was saying as Grant came walking over

Side street mysteries; what’s really going on?

 

And as she sat there sunk within these thoughts she slipped off a bit and far away…. he was speaking….saying something but….she was crushed ….

….and now she wondered what he was saying 

“What?” she looked up at him 

“Are you all right?” he asked her

“Yes. Thank you….” she automatically said but he didn’t believe her

“So, your favor?” she asked and the coffee maker let out a burst of hot air that startled her. She let out a gasp 

“Ah! It’s done!” he said, happily getting up 

She watched him pour and then he brought the two cups and saucers over and placed them down on the table. He let her go first. So she added the fake creamer and then mixed it around with the spoon. She sipped it carefully. Scalding. Put it down. 

Then she looked at him carefully from below her lashes to get a hint of his expression. What was this about? She wondered. And who was he talking to on the phone when he left the office? What was he talking about with the mystery books she had never heard of nor was there any listing of them on any internet search engine —as far as books were concerned anyway. That was what they had been looking up before the phone call ….that phone call— that interrupted ….well something ….that felt had begun —something between them as they sat there together in front of the monitor ….it was such a nice feeling

But also, she was beginning to wonder about the circumstances of Arthur Bishop’s sudden death. And what was that smell in the cellar?

“What are you thinking about?” he asked her suddenly ….he had been watching her sitting there. Some unlikely thing to say but he felt daring. As he asked this he observed her. She was so nervous. And the expressions thst moved across her face as she sat there he found so fascinating. But also ….her smell….there was some kind of sweetness to her body scent that had him quite distracted. What was that scent? It was not from a product; it was something of her own chemistry that filled his head to be near her. 

It seemed such an impertinent question to ask her. The sudden personal question. He didn’t pretend with his eyes. He looked boldly into her. His eyes were poet’s eyes, fringed with shadowed lashes and like fields of grass. When they looked at her, they looked into her and the look was almost violating but he smiled 

So why did she ….not say so?

Any other man ….

“I was thinking ….” she sipped the coffee 

“I know what you were thinking,” he said this in a lower tone but again he smiled and then sighed. He sat back and shook his head to clear his mind, “I erm….wanted to ask you if it would be possible to ask you to stay—to—um….run the ….shop—I mean, I’d help you figure it all out ….erm and you would be paid. He had a manager up until recently —don’t know what happened to him but —see, I’m knee deep with sorting his website out…and my Aunt—Fiona—she’s talking about going to live with her daughter back home plus I have my real job that I need to get back to….”

Long pause.

With Faun’s mind spinning she quickly said,

“back home….” and then added as if in delay, “Aunt Fiona back home…. back home?”

And he did an odd wave behind him to somehow indicate this and at the same time repeated,

“back home.”

So she said,

“back home, back home….” as by saying this it let her mind go over some thoughts …. And it seemed she knew how to carry on a conversation. It’s not hard. Just say the expected thing—but why were his eyes saying one thing —having one conversation as his mouth was having another with her …. but his sensual mouth ….

“So like a job? You are—like, offering me a job?” she asked “because ….she’s going.” 

“Well—yeah—I guess—and it would really help the family—the Bishops….”

“So what’s going to happen with the shop?” Faun lifted the coffee cup to her mouth and sipped, her eyes met his and this time it was her eyes asking other questions 

Side street mystery

 

There was something so quaint about the little two story house; which was the main reason that Faun decided to take the apartment. Like most of the others on the block, the house had the original architecture, with the original house foundation; circa the Victorian age, which oddly obviously left its influence on the town Faun observed, ironically, much like the historical American revolutionary plaques mounted all over town and leant its mood everywhere. All the houses were similar on the street but each had their own unique exception that made them stand out on their own. One was painted a pale shade of pink with white shutters and a matching unattached garage; they had a pale yellow picket fence and a front garden bursting with hydrangeas.

Another house beside it was all subdued shades of grey. This one had a neatly manicured lawn with two ancient weeping willow trees which flanked the house and which gave it more subtle hues of twisted shades in grays. In warm weather, it owed relief from a bright contrast by the shock of pink cast from the Hamilton rose bushes that outlined the home’s front door path which decorated a canopy of arching trellises to the door 

Faun always liked to imagine what went on inside those houses, each so different from the other and walks around the block often caught her observing the residence along the street. 

The pale lilac grey house that the Bishop’s let was the most subdued on the street, even with its two apple and maple trees and the big oak that a tire swing hung and shaded the front porch and west facing house with its wide stretching branches. Perhaps the jewel in the crown of this house was the front porch. It was furnished with matching rocking chairs, the kind you would picture in Cinderella with the big circular shaped rocker legs and padded with white, hemp, crocheted macrame with long sweeping fringes.

Faun had never gone into this part of the house, her apartment had its own private entrance at the back of the house, so as she walked with Grant up to the front, she curiously let herself examine what she had never been close enough to see. 

The front garden was overgrown, she noticed in the dark as they passed to go up the steps of the porch. She glanced at the rocking chairs and the tables beside them as Grant stood at the front door to open it with a key.

“I should have put the porch light on,” he said more to himself as he searched for the lock opening with the key; but then he got it and swung open the door. He stood aside to let her in first. 

He flipped on the light switch by the door. They had stepped directly into the sitting room from the doorway and off to the left she saw was the little kitchen; she caught a glimpse of a small dining room beyond. 

In the sitting room there were three sofas; two small and a bigger one. They were the kind of couches that seemed might have been there when the house was built —even as that was impossible, but it looked like it might, with the wood frame and salmon velvet upholstery —that didn’t promise comfort but seemed to preside. The floors were hard wood with various rag rugs thrown casually everywhere; and then, the tables were oddly colonial and matched the bookcases and the framed embroidery on the walls; and as they walked in, their footsteps echoed throughout the room. 

“So—sitting room—“ and here Grant swept out his arms pointing grandly to demonstrate at the couches, “kitchen this way….” he directed like a tour guide for Faun to follow, and as they came to the door that lead in, left open he now flicked the kitchen light switch by the door

It was a simple, tidy kitchenette with plain but solid wooden cabinets that also looked original to the house, but the plain avocado colored stove/oven range was less antique, although far from state-of-the-art, like the coffee maker that sat looking rather friendless on the otherwise bare counter top with its faux marble design.

“And dining room,” Grant stepped past the partition and flicked on another light. There hung a little crystal chandelier over a modest wooden, oval shaped colonial table with four matching colonial chairs. He flicked off the light and turned back into the kitchen, “I usually just sit there,” he pointed to a small square table that had two plain mismatched chairs placed around it

The light in the kitchen made an odd hum Faun noticed, looking up at it; it made her wonder how old the electrical wiring was as she noticed the art deco style of it.

“So—coffee?” Grant asked as he leaned against the side of the sink and turned to face her.

“Um—yeah—sure….” and awkwardly Faun moved, deciding to help him prepare it, she hesitated as she reached to open a cabinet door in search of materials required.

“No, you sit,” Grant smiled at her and carefully reached to remove her hands from the cabinet by taking each hand in his, having moved behind her, and then he gently walked her to the little table and pulled out a chair, and obediently, she sat, the contact of his hands on her momentarily stunning her

as he was saying,

“I invited you for coffee so the task is up to me and I don’t mind doing it.”

As this gave her the opportunity to watch him, she didn’t mind either. And as he opened cabinets and the coffee, he showed her was the shop’s signature brand,

“have you tried it?” he asked her

“No.”

“You’ll like it. It’s my favorite coffee,” he said as he measured it out and poured in the water. He placed two very, vintage, diner, white coffee cups with saucers on the little table where she sat with two spoons, “oh—I don’t have milk,” he said suddenly remembering 

“I don’t drink milk anyway,” she said 

“How’s fake creamer?”  he showed her the package

“Perfect,” she said

And as they waited for the coffee to finish, Grant sat down in the other chair on the other side of the small table. Then he said,

“I do need to ask you a big favor —about the shop ….”

“Ok….”

“So, I’m —that we—that you —that we can chat a bit ….” he struggled over what to say and second guessed every word.

She didn’t notice. All she heard was: a favor ….?

And now suddenly she was crestfallen ….and she found herself ….depressed over this sudden chilling mystery

was that the only reason he asked her to join him for coffee…. ?

 

Far from the maddening crowd side street

 

Faun had no idea why, but since she had been running the bookshop, she’d show up there only in skirts and dresses, no doubt the years of habit from her bookstore days. Unless it was the decor itself that drew her into its mood or her need to blend into the surroundings; in this case, the wallpaper. 

There was no way Grant could have known why she dressed the way she did, but as to her blending into the background —would not have crossed his mind. She perhaps complemented the William Morris entryway wallpaper or was it the other way around—?he was hypnotized to stare at the precise place where her longish dark green skirt with swirls of paisley stopped at mid calf to reveal astonishingly sensual long legs despite her pixy height, and at the moment had him captured. But Faun did not notice as she was still examining the screen, sat at Arthur Bishop’s office desk chair.

But just then Grant’s phone rang causing the both of them to jump with its otherworldly intrusion brought by the ringtone 

“Excuse me, I have to take this,” he politely said and stepped out the office door, shutting it behind him

Faun looked at the door he had vacated and sat for a moment knowing a moment of total bewilderment. She just looked at the door. It seemed awhile she sat there feeling dull. It was as if something had hit her on the head. She thought: what am I doing here?—should I go or….what would I be doing right now if he….

….blank 

Slowly she rose from the desk and, feeling strangely dizzy she stumbled into the edge of the desk as she lost her balance. Again she stared at the door as she leaned on the edge of the desk. She could hear his voice through the door but no words came clear, it was only the hum and tone of his voice. 

She shook her head as if to wake herself up and said aloud to the empty room,

“I should go….shouldn’t I?”

Quietly, she went to the door and opened it. He glanced up from his phone as he saw her and their eyes met; hers dark and bright and his shaded in the dimness where the shadows made his expression unclear. He stopped talking just then but she waved and quickly walked in the direction they had come toward the back entrance of the bookshop from the cellar.

Since it was creepy at night, especially this time of year with all the Halloween decorations everywhere, that sense hung about down there, so, she quickened her way back up to the shop.

She completed her evening routine for the shop—more habit from her past, and her need to tidy things up; cash drawer balanced and totals written into the ledger, and then once locked up, grabbed the cloth cash bag, then grabbed her raincoat and handbag; a small clutch, then out the door, she locked up. She hesitated. Should she set the alarm, or would he?

“Oh you’re off!” came a voice behind her from the street side. 

She spun around. 

Grant stood there looking at her from the sidewalk. 

“Yes, well—I thought ….”

“Sorry, that call was—“

“I wasn’t sure if I should wait—“

They spoke at the same time. Awkward. 

“Umm,” Faun shrugged and then held the key as she said, “I just need to lock up and set the alarm….”

“Of course,” he said and as she turned to do so, he walked over to her.

It was dark now, the sun had gone down and he wondered if she would be all right out here on the street alone. He felt compelled to ask but was not sure how without sounding patronizing.

Instead she said,

“do you need a ride?”

He had walked.

“I’m staying just a few blocks from here, but—“ he smiled

“Me too—I just drive here because I have to drop the deposit at the bank —which is far,” she waved a cloth bag at him, “that’s my car there—“ she pointed to an old 1970 faded yellow station wagon Volvo. “Care to come along? I can drop you off.”

When he opened the passenger  door it made a loud creaky sound but the interior was clean and everything looked like it worked. He slid in at the same time as she did and they shut the door at the exact same moment. This seemed to make them both look at each other. They both laughed. 

She said,

“you must be used to getting in on that side,” as she started the car. The engine revved up with muscle as she pressed the gas.

“Yes,” he said as she pulled the car onto the street.

“So the bank is that way—which way are you?” she waved to the left.

“Why don’t I come along for the drop,” he suggested and added, “I’m that way,” and he waved to the right.

They fell quiet as she drove to the bank, her thoughts in conflict. One part worried about what he might think of her driving as men generally don’t like women to drive them in her experience, unless it was her? She followed the speed limit. But she also started to wonder if —he just came because of —the cash bag? was he suspicious of something else —or should she be —or was he but of who? She glanced at him and noticed he was looking at the speedometer

After the drop—a secret kind of hidden drive through by the bank that required a key, he watched her walk back to the car, her long legs gliding with athletic grace and reminded him of the glimpse of leg that first caught his eye.

She got back in,

“so which way are you?”

“I’m by Elizabeth street,” he said

“Oh, me too!” she said and then pulled the car down the familiar way that she always took going home. 

It was strange having him with her. But also not strange. In that it was strange because it was not strange. Having him with her. It felt more normal. Which for her, that in itself was not normal. 

“Erm—“ he started to say something 

but at the moment he began, so had she,

“So—“

“Oh!”

“Oh!”

They both said 

Faun kept her mouth shut.

“Was just thinking —or—wondering—I mean, this town closes up early—“ he was saying but he spoke quickly and she didn’t get most of those words as he paused between, “no, I saw a Starbucks back there I remember or—which way is that? Do you know?”

She caught that word,

“Starbucks!” she repeated, “you like coffee—do you want—?”

“Well, is it out of the way, I meant if you want to join me?” he asked —just as he recognized Elizebeth street, “oh but here we are….”

“Well—we can still go….” even as she turned the car down Elizabeth and while saying so it suddenly began to rain and at the same moment that it began —with a bolt of lightning for emphasis as something flew past the windshield 

“Maybe it’s a sign,” he said as the sky had lit up, “did you see that?” he pointed 

“What was that?”

“That was a bat.”

She met his gaze as she stopped at the corner to look at him. But the chill that passed through her was not fear. Her eyes fell to his mouth for one instant and….she found herself wondering how it would feel to kiss his mouth. Perhaps prickly. As she noted the way his facial hair outlined his lips casting sensual shadows 

“You’re not afraid of them?” he asked 

It took a beat too long for her to interpret his words. She kept staring at him. She looked into his eyes. Repeating in her head the syllables. She fell inside them. 

“They’re more afraid of humans,” he was saying 

but she was still decoding and lost in the music of his voice; it was deep and rhythmic as she’d imagined Thomas Hardy would sound 

He said,

“I’m just to the right after the next corner—actually, I do have a coffee maker there, if you’d like to join me? It’s a bit rough but nobody lives in that part of the house where I’m at.”

As she turned following his direction, something suddenly dawned,

“are you at 56?” she slowed at a house and pointed 

He smiled slowly,

“I should have realized—you’re the rental! Or I should say the renter—I didn’t put it together—“

“Yes—oh—I’m their renter —that’s how I met the Bishops!” as she realized what he meant. She met the Bishops when she took the apartment they advertised for rent.

“I forgot—they’d mentioned but—the yellow Volvo should have ….” he was saying as she pulled up the driveway to the back of the small, narrow two story old Victorian style house with a front porch, “when I visit, I stay in a dormer room with an en suite, I use the community kitchen which has a coffee maker.”

She put the car in park and as they unbuckled their seat belts they both laughed 

“There’s a community kitchen? I never noticed! I’ve been thinking I had a new neighbor!”

“There’s a community dining room too and sitting room—would you like a tour?” he asked 

 

Side street story/Not an Agatha Christie In Sight

There was something very weird about the cellar, Faun had only been down there once when she was first shown where the thermostats were for adjusting the shop’s temperature which were set on an automatic timer.

“What is that strange smell?” Faun asked as they went down the stairs. There was a dampness down here too, and an odd hum, like some kind of constant motor running. 

“Oh, well this is where the old movie theatre was, the popcorn maker there?— Aunt Fiona makes gourmet popcorn for the shop—or had done…. not sure what will happen now but that’s part of what you smell —and, they roast the coffee beans that are sold in the shop and on line—did they tell you about that?—but there’s also Aunt Fiona grows a vegetable garden right out there and she’s big on her onions which grows right by that exit door,” Grant pointed 

She understood most of what he said this time as he slowed down his speech a bit as they were walking,

“this way,” he said and showed her down a narrow side isle she hadn’t known was there. 

“It seems inconveniently placed from the shop’s access,” Faun remarked 

“I believe that was intentional,” and they turned another corner, “however it is accessible from the street on the other side.”

At last at this turn she could see the convenience of being inconveniently out of the way. 

“This is a botany lab,” he told her

“I smell eucalyptus,” she sniffed the air 

“This way,” he said again

and then there it was—a glass wall with adjustable blinds revealed a wood paneled office lined with dark wood filing cabinets and furnished with a heavy dark wood desk, leather chairs and of course —bookcases loaded with vintage leather bound books

“Please, have a seat—“ and he pointed to the chair at the desk that faced a wide screen computer monitor 

“You want me to sit there?” she pointed to the desk 

“Please,” he said as he pulled one of the leather wing chairs over for himself and placed it next to the swivel desk chair in upholstered burgundy leather that matched the other

Once seated he tapped the computer and the screen lit on

“I wanted to ask your opinion—the figures —you’ve been doing the daily totals ….see, these are the online orders for the website sales and that column are those figures there….”

Faun looked at what he pointed to not knowing what he was trying to ask of her to see

But then she said,

“I didn’t realize they had such a successful online store, I mean —if that’s how much they made last month.”

“Hmm,” Grant made a sound of the affirmative 

It was impressive and accounted for how it was possible to have kept up the shop so well….but—

“I don’t understand why they bother with a shop when—“

“Exactly! But, no—here’s the thing, I set up Uncle Arthur’s website several years ago and I’ve helped him run it from over there as he was not the most tech minded person —but do you recognize any of these titles?”

Faun turned her attention to another document Grant opened now which listed titles of books along with their isbn number, store sku and their listed prices. In all her years working with books, she knew popular titles snd authors so well that she could count them instead of sheep at night in her head; classics?—she was a walking Amazon search engine and ….these titles she was looking at were ….completely out of her knowledge and page after page of the document she searched looking for at least one title or author she recognized 

“What are these?” she felt herself get curious as she read the titles, “‘Hit Man Bash’ ‘Chronic Youth’ —Dom Demenico ….wait—do you have Google on your phone—can you look up this author?”

And as he reached for his phone there was suddenly a kind of bond between them; it was a subtle shift but it felt as if some kind of unspoken level of a kind of intimacy had been formed between them as their shared intrigue drew their attention

“Nothing!” Grant said and showed her what came up. It only showed a spelling correction and then instead of an existing author, a suggestion with the origin of the Latin name 

When she looked up from his phone to look up at him she was aware of how close he was leaning as he showed her the screen of his phone and —she found that instead of pulling away from his nearness, she liked his presence there