His wide eyes proved him equally stunned to see her.
“Killing time until I check out the competition at Beast.” He closed his puzzle book and smiled. He’d worked such long hours this week, she didn’t know how he managed to stay upright let alone think through a crossword puzzle.
“Sneaky.” She nodded with approval.
“Naomi’s an excellent chef, and I like to be challenged.”
“I know this about you.” She fidgeted with her book.
“Innovation and attention to detail make all the difference.”
Details that went beyond his professional pursuits, like her favorite flowers. Colby smiled, feeling oddly shy. “I meant to thank you for the vase and tulip earlier.”
“You’re welcome.” He held her gaze.
This was only the third time they’d spent time together outside the restaurant since dinner at Hunter’s. The first since the recent kiss. That kiss. She caught herself staring at his mouth. Which quirked. Shoot. Busted.
“What’d you pick?” He peeked at the cover, letting her off the hook. “Hmm. Self-help?”
“No. Fiction. An Italian author wrote a story about a man with an inoperable tumor who’s given one hundred days to live, so he makes a plan to win back his ex and accomplish a bunch of stuff so he can die happy.” It may have sounded morbid to some, although to her the description carried a hopeful note.
“A bucket list on steroids?”
She laughed. “I suppose you could frame it that way.”
They both hesitated, unsure of what to do or say next.
“Where were you before you came here?” he asked.
“At the sidewalk sale with Sara.”
“By Jamison Square?” He raised his brows, looking worried yet impressed. “And where are you off to next?”
“Home.” To her empty condo. To sit alone and read and while away the time until she could go to sleep . . . by herself. And yet, here was Alec. Also alone. Also burying himself in a book to avoid reality, or his father, or both.
Seeing him here with his puzzle book took her back to high school. To the Alec who’d often been alone, whether in his kitchen or the tree house. Who’d almost always been there for her when she’d needed him. Maybe fate brought him here to remind her of that. Before she thought better of it, she asked, “Would you like to come over for a drink or something?”
His eyes went wide and cautious. “Right now?”
“Yes.” A restless feeling rose inside, making her excited and flustered at the same time. What the hell was she thinking? “Well, after I pay for my book.”
“Okay. Sure.” He stood so abruptly that his chair scraped against the cement floor. Offering the others nearby a sheepish grimace, he then followed her to the counter.
Minutes later they were ducking and weaving through the crowded sidewalks, trying to avoid the steady stream of cyclists and homeless along the one-mile walk to her condo. Alec spent the journey sharing his take on the weekend’s receipts, customer feedback, and so on.
Colby couldn’t concentrate on business, though. Not when his cargo pants, soft chambray shirt, and uncharacteristically free expression looked even more appealing than him in his crisp white chef’s coat.
For a blissful moment, she wanted to simply be one of two single adults enjoying a breezy Sunday afternoon with a frisson of attraction sparkling between them. A pair that onlookers might even mistake for a couple. A happy couple.
Lately, the voice that wanted Alec as more than her friend had been drowning out the one advising caution. Who was she to judge Alec’s baggage when she had a cartful of her own?
Perhaps Alec was another chance to force herself out of a comfortably numb existence, like today when she’d survived going back to the Pearl. If she couldn’t make herself trust Alec—someone she’d known most of her life—who could she trust?
“Pretty building.” Alec squinted up at the gleaming glass structure. “Do you have a nice view?”
“No. Second-floor unit.” She’d never again live on a high floor with a balcony. A little shiver danced down her spine, but she made herself look into Alec’s eyes before that final image of Mark could fully materialize. It worked, but the sudden intimacy inside the elevator nearly suffocated her when the doors closed.
Alec shoved his hands in his pockets. That old habit comforted her, actually.
Once inside her apartment, she went to the refrigerator, pulled out an open bottle of sauvignon blanc, and poured two glasses. A quick flick of the remote turned on some mellow music to calm her nerves.
From the kitchen, she watched Alec meander around the living room, studying her photos and gazing out the plate-glass windows. His hand grazed the soft chenille sofa and fingered the bronze sculpture on the sofa table.