Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 65239 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65239 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
I don’t want him to see me here. He can’t see me here.
This is a part of the world that I ran from.
“Hi,” I whisper, unsure of what to say.
I assumed he’d eventually show up at Tin Anchor tonight after spending some time at home, but he’s still wearing the same suit and shirt he had on at work.
Maybe he had dinner plans or more-than-dinner plans with another woman.
His mussed hair and the end of his tie peeking out from one pocket of his suit jacket suggest that Sean had a lot of fun with someone tonight.
My gaze drifts to something tucked under his arm.
I can’t quite make out what it is.
He glances at the glass doors that lead into the lobby of the building I just exited. “What are you doing in this neighborhood?”
“I got off work a bit ago,” I offer while I struggle to find the words to explain why I’m so far from home at this time of night.
He rakes me from head to toe, taking in my outfit. It’s the same jeans and Tin Anchor T-shirt that I wore last night. I washed them early this morning, tossed them in the dryer as I ate a quick dinner, and then took off for work.
I tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear. “What are you doing in this neighborhood?”
I sense that my non-explanation of what I’m doing here doesn’t please him, but he answers my question. “Decky and I were at our parents’ home. It’s a couple of blocks from here. We have to clear out some stuff.”
“Stuff like that?” I point at whatever is under his arm.
He yanks it out. It’s a well-worn leather baseball glove. “Lots of stuff like this. Stuff from when we were kids. This is Declan’s old baseball glove. When I was nine, I wanted this more than anything. I finally got it in my hands tonight.”
He’s so open and honest.
It pains me that I can’t be that way with him.
My gaze shoots to the left when one of the doors to the building opens, and the doorman peeks his head out. He looks at Sean before turning his attention to me. “I wanted to thank you again for the pen, Miss Morrow. I know you said you’d take the subway home, but I can call for a car if that’s preferable. It is getting quite late.”
Sean shoves a hand at him. “How are you? I’m Sean.”
“I’m Leon.”
Wishing Leon would go back to his post inside, I smile. “I don’t need a car. I’ll be fine.”
Sean drops Leon’s hand after a hearty shake. “I can attest to that. I’ll see Calliope home.”
Leon’s gaze lingers on my face. “Very well. It was good to see you again, Miss Morrow. If I didn’t mention it earlier, I miss you.”
“I miss you too,” I whisper. “Please take care.”
He offers Sean a nod before he retreats back inside the building.
Sean glances at me. “I needed some fresh air, so I planned to walk a few blocks before calling Jurgen to pick me up. I’ll call him now and get him to head in our direction.”
“There’s a subway stop at the end of the block. Are you game to take another ride with me?”
He holds out his hand. “I’d never say no to that.”
We set off in that direction holding hands. As we near the corner, Sean tugs on my hand to slow my pace. He turns to look down at me. “Are you and Leon old friends?”
“We are,” I answer honestly, feeling brave enough to make a small confession because he deserves that. “I used to live there.”
“Did you live there recently?”
I can’t be surprised that he wants to know more, so I nod. “Until six months ago. Then I moved to a one bedroom apartment that I shared with a few friends from college.”
His left brow perks. “You left?”
I know he’s looking for more than a simple answer to that question, so I step closer to him. I reach up to touch his jaw with my fingers. “I left. I didn’t belong there.”
“I understand,” he murmurs. “So you stopped by to drop off a pen for Leon?”
The next words that will come out of my mouth aren’t an outright lie, but they will omit something that I’m not ready to share with him yet. “Sometimes people leave pens on the bar if they write their phone numbers on cocktail napkins. Leon collects silver pens, so whenever I see one that’s abandoned, I save it for him.”
“You mean sometimes men leave their pens on the bar when they write down their numbers for you?”
I laugh. “Yes, but I almost always toss those in the trash.”
“Almost always?” He rubs his jaw. “Did you keep any of those numbers tonight?”
“Why would I?” I step closer to him. “Have you seen my neighbor? You won’t believe what he can do with his mouth and hands. Not to mention what’s inside his boxer briefs.”