Before she could argue, I hurried away. No one stopped me and only a few even looked my way. I cut a wide path around where I saw Rebecca and her gang of friends chatting. They probably all still lived in the city and met for brunch every Sunday, picking at salads that cost more than a full meal at some places and sharing the latest gossip. I wasn't entirely sure I'd be able to keep myself from slapping that smirk off her face if she said something, so I figured it was better to steer clear. I didn't want to be the girl who got kicked out of the reunion for fighting. Despite my current occupation, I had too much self-respect for that.
I took a deep breath as I stepped out into the chilly evening. It wasn't quite freezing, but there was a bite in the air that said winter hadn't quite relinquished its grip despite it being early May. I rubbed my hands over my arms as I looked around the school grounds and tried to figure out what I was going to do while I waited for the reunion to end.
“Are you cold?”
I froze, and not because of the air. I didn't have to turn towards the voice, however, because the owner of it was stepping around so I could confirm what I already knew.
“Rebecca insisted I bring her tonight when her date canceled, but as soon as she got here, she went off with her friends.” Reed flashed a charming smile. “I was trying to think up an excuse to leave when you came out. Looks like you're as bored as I am. Want to take a walk with me?”
Chapter 4
It had been almost three years since I'd walked down Germantown Avenue. Those last couple years with my mother, I hadn't gone anywhere but home, work and the hospital, but before that, when I'd been at St. George's, I'd walked down here often. I'd hated the school, but the neighborhood, with its cobbled streets and little shops, was beautiful. I'd walked it in the morning, afternoon and evening. I'd walked it with Anastascia as well as alone.
But I'd never dreamed I'd be walking it with Reed Stirling.
“I always preferred Chestnut Hill to the city,” Reed said suddenly, breaking the surprisingly comfortable silence between us. He didn't look at me, but I risked a sideways glance at him. His hands were in his pockets and he looked completely relaxed. “It's one of the reasons I asked my parents to sell me our family home out here rather than buying an apartment in the city like they and my sister have. I got my fill of city living when I was at Columbia getting my MBA.”
Like with Anastascia, I didn't hear any arrogance as he spoke about his family's wealth. I appreciated that he didn't try to downplay it either. That was a mistake people often made, thinking that those of us who had less money would want them to act as if their money was shameful.
“It is beautiful here,” I admitted. “I remember the first time I came here, when my mom brought me to do the testing to get into St. George's, and I thought about how amazing it must be to live here.”
“But you left the city,” he said.
“I did.” I waited for the next inevitable question about what I'd been doing since graduation.
It didn't come.
“I remember you.”
“What?” I looked over at him, startled.
He gave me that smile again. “I'll admit it. I didn't recognize you at first, but once my sister said your name, I remembered you.”
I raised my eyebrows, letting my expression show my skepticism.
“I swear.” He held up his hands as we started back up the hill. “Believe it or not, even the juniors heard about the freshman who told Professor Kirkwood that Ernest Hemingway was a drunken misogynist with an ego the size of Spain and a writing style reminiscent of a sleep-deprived toddler.”
My face grew hot. I'd forgotten about that. Needless to say, Professor Kirkwood and I hadn't gotten along very well after that. I'd gotten the impression that if he could've flunked me, he would've. My scores had just been too high.
“I can't believe you remember what I said,” I mumbled.
“Are you kidding?” He grinned. “Kirkwood was a pompous windbag everyone had wanted to see taken down a peg or two.”
I laughed, my cheeks flushing at the admiration in his voice, and started to cross the street. My heel caught in one of the trolley tracks and I stumbled. Reed's arm wrapped around my waist, keeping me upright. Without breaking his grip, he bent and gently pried the heel of my shoe from where it was wedged. When he straightened, there was barely an inch between us.
He looked down at me, his dark eyes searching my face as if he was trying to read my mind. Then a car horn honked, only two soft taps, but enough to break his gaze. I took a step, expecting him to relinquish his hold. He didn't. His arm stayed around my waist as we made our way to the other side of the street, his thumb stroking up and down as we walked.