"Nina Kiriki Hoffman - Home for Christmas" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hoffman Nina Kiriki)

them to her. “And you let me take you to dinner? And drive you
home afterwards? Unless you have your own car.”
She folded the fifties, slipped them into the battered leather card
case she used as a wallet, and thought about this odd proposition.
She squinted at the empty glass on the bar. “Which number are
you,” she muttered to it, “and what were you?”
—I cradled an old-fashioned,—said the glass,—and from the taste
of his lips, it was not his first.—
“You talking to my drink?” Amusement quirked the corner of his
mouth.
Matt smiled, and took a peek at his dreamscape. She couldn’t
read thoughts, but she could usually see what people were
imagining. Not with Plainfield, though. Instead of images, she saw
lists and blueprints, the writing on them too small and stylized for
her to read.
He said, “Look, there’s a restaurant right around the corner. We
can walk to it, if you’re worried about my driving.”
“Okay,” she said.
He left some cash on the bar, waved at the bartender, and
walked out, leaving Matt to follow.
 The restaurant was a greasy spoon; the tables in the booths were
topped with red linoleum and the menus bore traces of previous
meals. At nine on Christmas Eve, there weren’t many people there,
but the waitress seemed cheery when she came by with coffee mugs
and silverware. Plainfield drank a whole mugful of coffee while
Matt was still warming her hands. His eyes were slightly bloodshot.
“So,” he said as he set his coffee mug down.
Matt added cream and sugar, lots of it, stirred, then sipped.
“So,” said Plainfield again.
“So,” Matt said.
“So did you learn all my deep dark secrets from my wallet? You
did look through it, right?”
“Had to find out who owned it.”
“What else did you find out?”
“You carry a lot of cash. Your credit’s good. You’re real worried
about your car, and you’re an architect. There’s two women in your
life.”
“So do we have anything in common?”
“No. I got no cash,—’cept what you gave me—no credit, no car,
no relationships, and I don’t build anything.” She studied the menu.
She wondered if he liked young boys. This could be a pickup, she
supposed, if he was the sort of man who took advantage of chance
opportunities.
The waitress came by and Matt ordered a big breakfast, two of
everything, eggs, bacon, sausages, pancakes, ham slices, and
biscuits in gravy. Christmas Eve dinner. What the hell. She glanced
at Plainfield, saw him grimacing. She grinned, and ordered a large
orange juice. Plainfield ordered a side of dry wheat toast.
“What do you want with me, anyway?” Matt asked.
He blinked. “I… I thought you must be an amazing person,