Thea had met Mr. and Mrs. Rivera enough times to realize they were good people who loved their son. “I don’t know.” She ran a hand through her hair before folding her arms and slumping in her seat. “I don’t want to lie to your parents.”
“My mother has maternal ESP.” It was said with open affection. “I’m sure she’ll figure out every tiny detail even if we don’t say a word.”
“My mother calls you my ‘young man,’” Thea said morosely. “Next thing you know, she’ll be inviting you to Bali for dinner and asking you if you intend to get a real job.”
David’s chuckle was a warm caress over her skin. “Have passport, will travel.”
“Don’t joke.” She scowled at him. “This is serious.”
David didn’t respond until he’d brought the car to a halt in the underground parking garage of the building in the Bronx where he owned an apartment. Turning in his seat after undoing his seat belt, he placed his arm along the back of her seat. “Your parents were hurt by the breakup with Eric?”
Thea wanted to say yes, wanted to make this simple. But David deserved the truth. “They were hurt for me.” Eric hadn’t made much of an effort to get to know her family, had insisted on staying in a hotel rather than with them the one time he and Thea had flown to Bali together.
Back then, he’d still been a decent man in every other way and she’d excused his demand as discomfort with a busy familial environment when he’d grown up an only child. She’d figured she’d ease him into it, but the visit had never been repeated. “I don’t want either my parents or yours being put into that position. Especially since we’ll all inevitably come into contact again because of my work with Schoolboy Choir.”
“I don’t intend to mess this up.” David tucked a wing of her hair behind her ear. “Do you?”
“Intentions don’t always matter.”
“And starting out believing we’re going to fail doesn’t give us a fair shot.”
He was right; she knew he was right. That didn’t make it any easier to jump off the precipice and trust he’d catch her. That he wouldn’t watch her fall and bleed.
When you suffer such a big hurt, the longer you permit it to live in you, the bigger it grows, until it seeks to devour your soul.
Her mother’s words rang in Thea’s mind, wise and smart and a reminder that if she didn’t step forward, she’d be stuck forever in the past. “I’ll go with you to your folks,” she said, her chest painful with a raw surge of emotion. “If your mom or your dad figure it out, then they figure it out. But this time, I’ll go as your friend.”
Holding his gaze, she said, “Next time… next time I’ll walk in as your lover. Okay?” Unspoken was her hope that there would be a next time.
“Okay,” David said, his expression tender and his presence so stable that it made the entire world stop spinning so she could catch a breath.
David’s heart was thumping like a racehorse’s by the time he showed Thea into his apartment on the seventh floor. It occupied a quarter of the floor, the other three apartments on this level owned by business types he rarely saw. That had been part of the attraction—the building was in the borough he loved, but nowhere near the “hot” areas of it, the majority of its residents suits who were more focused on work than on their neighbors.
Putting Thea’s bag in the spare bedroom—he wasn’t about to screw up the most important thing in his life by making assumptions that could blow up in his face—he returned to the living area to find she’d taken off her jacket, kicked off her heels, and was stretching out the kinks.
As he watched her raise up her arms, arch her back with feminine ease, he tried to see this place through her eyes. The exterior of the building was clad in warm sienna-colored stone, the windows huge curved arches that spilled light onto the polished wood of the floors during the day. Right now, they showcased a sparkling cityscape, New York a lady dressed in her diamonds and ready for a night out.
The kitchen area was raised up a step and to the right of the windows, while the sunken living area was dominated by a large flat screen and a U-shaped, three-piece sofa set in deep cream.
The jewel-toned cushions on it were courtesy of his mother.
His drum kit—the one he used while in the city—was situated to the left of the sofa, the apartment’s cutting-edge soundproofing another big part of the reason he’d bought the place. An acoustic guitar lay on the sofa itself, and Noah had left behind his jacket when he’d dropped by earlier today. It was thrown over one of the sofa arms.