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Toronto has a lot of art galleries, most of which George hasn’t heard of. He likes art, his aunt Rose does watercolours but he doesn’t go to museums. He barely has free time as it is and he would rather spend writing his novel or using ancient aliens but Emily likes art and George likes Emily.
They used to go out. Emily had be a suspect in a case, a case that was never proved and if George is honest with himself she probably did commit fraud. But she smiled and took George’s offered sweets and once they banished the case to the unsolved pile he asked her out.
They’re just friends now and Emily’s still great and George isn’t jealous of her new girlfriend but there’s only some many times he can cancel plans until Emily thinks that. So here he is, in an art gallery.
He’s staring at some painting, light hitting off the sea, beautiful, until he realise the living embrace is that a siren and it’s prey.
Emily leans her head on his shoulder. “Isn’t it lovely?”
It is. “It’s haunting.” He squints his eyes. “Doesn’t the man look like Leslie?”
Emily makes a sound of disgust. “I suppose. Although you could refrain from mentioning him.”
He chuckles. “Sorry. Again.”
“Water under the bridge.” She puts her arm around his waist, leaning closer in. “How’s Henry, by the way?”
The Siren has gorgeous long hair. Brown. Maybe the same as Henry. “Fine.”
“George.” She sighs.
“How’s Lillian? Where is she anyway?”
Emily tenses. “Bathroom.” She’s lying and George should ask. Emily may not have been convicted but Lillian was arrested in England for art theft. He focuses back on the sirens prey, a dark haired man that’s absolutely smitten.
“Henry invited me out again.” Two tickets for the Marlies/Providence game appeared on his desk yesterday.
“You going to go?”
“Probably.” He doesn’t want to. But he wants to see him so bad.
“Doesn’t your boss have that PI friend?”
“Freddie?”
Emily nods, her hair tickling his chin. Anyone would think they’re still a couple. Sometimes he wishes they were. Life was simpler.
“What’s she got to do with Henry?”
“Nothing. But maybe you could ask her for a job.”
He moves away from Emily and tilts his head. “Why were I do that? I love my job.”
“You’re dating someone with mob connections.”
“I’m not dating him.” George hisses.
Emily gives him that ‘I’m right, you’re wrong’ look and checks her watch. She looks back at the painting.
“I’m not dating him, Emily. I can’t be,” She looks at him at that. “And I’m not quitting my job. I like it. I like helping Murdoch and Jackson’s a great partner and did you know Julia’s been helping with psych profiling. She thinks I’m a natural at it. And I got in trouble for dating you but that was fine. That was white collar. Henry, Henry was a murder suspect at one point. I can’t,” He looks down at her., he’s on the verge of tears. “I can’t be with him.”
She wraps her arms around him. “Always falling in love with the wrong people.”
He smiles into her hair. “My one flaw.”
She leans back and grins. Then lightly slaps him on the shoulder. “One flaw?” She scoffs. “Try half a dozen.”
“At least.” He smiles back. She has always been great at making him feel better. It’s why they worked so well, still do.
She grips his chin. “You will be okay, George Crabtree, no matter what you choose.”
“I don’t want to choose.”
“Then go out with him again and go to work the next day and take it from there.” She nods at him. “Then keep doing that.”
“One day at a time.”
Emily grins. “One day at a—“ An alarm goes off.
His eyes widen and he turns around, eyes darting around. He glances back at Emily, who’s sheepish. He rolls his eyes.
Bringing his badge out his pocket, he holds it up and shouts “Toronto Police. Don’t worry.”