Beside me, Diesel stretched and yawned. He enjoyed visitors, and he hopped down from his perch to welcome Godfrey.

What the heck was he doing here? We hadn’t been that close in high school or college, so why seek me out?

“Good morning, Godfrey,” I said, standing. I came around the desk and extended a hand in greeting. Diesel padded right behind me. “It’s been a long time.”

“It sure has,” Godfrey said, his tones still hearty. He clasped my hand in his bigger one and gave it a firm squeeze and a shake. “You’re looking good.”

“You, too,” I said, trying not to wince. I flexed my fingers slightly when Godfrey released my hand.

He was even taller than I remembered. I glanced down at his feet and I could see why. He was wearing an expensive pair of cowboy boots with heels that made him about two inches taller than his normal six-four.

“What is that? A cat?” Godfrey asked, watching as Diesel made a slow circle around him. Evidently unimpressed, Diesel walked back to the window and jumped up to his bed. Yawning, he turned his back on both of us and settled down for a nap. I’d give him a treat later.

“He’s a Maine coon,” I said. “They’re larger than most cats.”

“That’s the first time I’ve ever been snubbed by a cat.” Godfrey laughed, but his expression revealed annoyance. “They always love me because they can tell I’m a cat person.”

I tried not to laugh. “Diesel doesn’t take to everybody. Don’t pay any attention.”

I continued to take in my visitor. Though we were the same age, he looked ten years older. His skin resembled leather, and years of exposure to the sun had added lines to the skin around his eyes. His hair, now a bleached straw mop, had suffered, too. His clothes screamed designer labels, and the Rolex watch he consulted ostentatiously, along with a chunky gold bracelet, made the point that he had plenty of money.

“What can I do for you, Godfrey?” I went back to my desk to sit down. With a wave I indicated he should sit, too. “Did you drop by to talk about the good old days?”

“I have it on good authority that you are the archivist here,” he said, patently ignoring my little dig. He settled his long frame into the chair and crossed his arms.

“I am,” I said. Pompous as ever. I waited.

Godfrey glanced past me toward the sleeping Diesel. “They let you bring that cat to work?” His fingers tensed on his arms, and his eyes searched the room. He seemed nervous, but I had no idea why.

“Obviously.”

Godfrey’s cheeks reddened as he faced me. I remembered that he had never cared for sarcasm, particularly when it had been directed at him.