Sirens by Janet Fox

shy. I searched for conversation. “Do you live in the city?”
    “I’ve got a small place downtown. It’s not much, but the neighbors don’t mind hearing me practice, long as I quit before ten P.M.”
    “What do you play?”
    “The cornet.” When I looked puzzled, he said, “It’s kind of like a trumpet.”
    “And you wait tables at the Algonquin?”
    His face grew dark again, and he stopped walking. “How’d you know that?”
    “Mmm,” I bit my lip. Admitting I saw him there would be admitting I’d watched him. “Didn’t you say…?”
    He rubbed his chin. “I don’t think I did.”
    I could see that I’d embarrassed him. Would he hate me for showing him up, for my own sleuthing skills, which were far better than his? I sought to change tacks again, and I put my hand on his arm. “Do you know the Round Table?”
    He eyed me for another minute before he shrugged. “Sure, I do. Everyone does.”
    “What I wouldn’t give…” I started, and then stopped. My hand lay on his arm, and every nerve in my fingers vibrated. His skin was warm, and his forearm sinewy and strong. My cheeks grew hot as I lifted my fingers away.
    The birds had stopped calling, and the trees hung overhead, still and drooping. Somewhere in the distance thunder rumbled.
    “Hey,” he said, and his dark eyes went soft. “If you ever want to come by, I’ll point them out. Those famous folks.”
    The air was full and heavy and moist. Thunder rumbled again, closer. I could smell the rain. And then we both heard it coming.
    I looked at the sky, dull gray now. “I think we’d better find some shelter, or we’re in for a drenching.”
    Charlie lifted his face and looked around. “How about there?”
    It was a coffee shop across the avenue. Just as we started to move, fat raindrops fell in slow warning. Charlie grabbed my hand, and we ran across the avenue, making it through the honking autos and buses, through the door, and into the shop just as the rain came down in sheets.
    We laughed, shaking off nerves at the near miss of both traffic and rain, and as he released my hand I realized that I liked it, the way that his warm hand had enveloped mine as he’d pulled me through the danger. I smiled at him and he grinned at me, and my heart fluttered.
    “Cup of coffee?” he asked.
    I nodded, and we found a pair of stools at the counter; Charlie ordered two cups of coffee and two pieces of apple pie, warm, à la mode.
    We ate our pie and sipped our coffee in silence while the rain battered the window, then slowed, then stopped altogether, as the storm passed and the clouds split to allow a brilliant stream of sun that mirrored off the wet sidewalks and cars. I stole sidelong glances at Charlie, at that profile that looked like he’d stolen it from a Celtic warlord. Passersby lowered their umbrellas, shaking off the rain.
    “I need to get home,” I said.
    “Sure thing. The coffee and pie are on me. You know, for tailing you.” I started to protest, but he stopped me. “I’ll still get my ten bucks. Plus expenses.” He grinned, raising his cup of coffee in salute before bringing it to his lips.
    Oh, those lips. I looked away, staring into the depths of my own cup.
    The air was cool and fresh now, and we walked the blocks downtown in silence. When we reached the corner of Park and Fifty-sixth, Charlie stopped. “I think I’d better leave you here. No sense letting your doorman see me when I’m supposed to be invisible. Even if you are twice the detective I’ll ever be.” He gave me another of his grins; I couldn’t help grinning right back.
    I reached out to shake his hand. “Nice meeting you, Charlie. Thanks for the coffee.” As we shook hands, my fingers tingled.
    He turned away, then turned back. “Hey. I’ll be downtown at a joint for two weeks. Why don’t you come on down? It’s in the lower west. You can hear me play.”
    “To a speakeasy? Me? Good grief, no!”
    “Well, if you should change your mind.” He