Almost

Chapter 70: Decent

Lee was waiting for her when she arrived, sitting in his favorite worn leather armchair in the corner. She loved the apartment—it was a perfectly cozy and meticulously organized loft. One wall went all the way up both levels, and Lee had put high bookshelves and a rolling ladder in that made the whole place feel like a library. And he had so many books to store, it left little room for any knick-knacks.

It was tucked into muggle London, not far from Regent's Park. The first time Katherine had visited, she had been very excited at its proximity to Baker Street. Lee had simply raised an eyebrow at her—now, however, she smiled every time she saw the collection of Sherlock Holmes books she'd bought him on the shelf nearest his chair.

"Well?" he said, when she stepped through the door that had arrived in the middle of his apartment. "Are you taking Hermione's job yet?"

Katherine rolled her eyes as the door disappeared. "I definitely think I'd need more O.W.L.s than Corliss for that. Mind if I change?"

"Of course," he said, his chin jutting up towards the loft. "I was just going to order take away. Any preference?"

"As long as there are fries involved, I'm happy," she said. "Just not—"

"No fish and chips," he replied lazily, already looking back down at the book in his lap. "Well aware."

She stopped and kissed the top of his head before scrambling upstairs to change. She laid her bag on his bed, which she had never seen unmade. She'd always assumed it was some kind of magic—the starched white sheets had those perfect corners like a hotel and the navy blue comforter was always turned down in exactly the same way, a soft grey quilt tucked on the end. As she slipped into her jeans, she looked at what book he had next to his bedside table—always fiction, always huge, and almost always a title she'd never heard of. Today, it was something by a woman named Luna Lovegood.

When she reemerged into the warm glow of the downstairs, Lee was fiddling with his phone.

"Blasted buttons—"

"Here," Katherine said, holding out her hand. Lee had gotten a phone when she'd first gone to New York and had never really gotten the hang of the flip phone he'd chosen. She tried to convince him that he might have better luck with a smartphone like Harry had, but he'd refused to consider it.

"Those things are bad for your eyes," he had told her when she'd asked about it years ago, pointing to his glasses. "I need these to last me a long while."

Now, she typed the number in for him—a restaurant around the corner from him that had excellent sandwiches and crinkle cut fries that still managed to be crispy. He knew her order without asking.

"Hi, yes, could I get a chorizo roll, a fennel sausage and kale with no tomato on ciabatta, and two large orders of fries? Pick up for Vander. . . Yes, the one in the vest . . . That corner would be perfect. Brilliant, thanks."

He hung up the phone and shrugged. "I think I go there too often."

She laughed, sinking into a highbacked chair on the other side of the fireplace from his seat.

"What are you reading?" she asked as he plopped back down into the leather.

"A book about communicating with bowtruckles. I told you, we're having a problem—"

"I meant upstairs," she said, brow raised.

"Oh, the Lovegood? It's a retelling of The Fountain of Fair Fortune. It's an old Beedle the Bard story, but she's put a really interesting twist on it.'

"Perfect name for an author."

"I'm surprised you don't recognize it," Lee mused. "She's friends with half your family. My grandfather, too."