Текст книги "Heart Block"
Автор книги: Melissa Brayden
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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 18 страниц)
“I lost an account at work today. It was a project I’d been working on night and day for weeks, and it didn’t go through. It’s just…frustrating as hell.”
Sarah tilted her head to the side, understanding curiously that Emory was not upset about the loss of her mother, but instead about an issue at work. It didn’t compute, but she pressed forward. “What is it you do for a living, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Emory leaned her hip against the counter and sipped her dry martini. “I own a newswire agency.”
“Like the Associated Press, you mean?”
“Kind of. We’re more of a wire for hire. Companies use our services to send out their press releases. Plus, the Securities and Exchange Commission requires all public companies achieve something called ‘simultaneous disclosure,’ which means any and all investor announcements must be sent out to a variety of news sources at the exact same moment. We’re able to satisfy that need at Global Newswire with a fleet of high-powered satellites.”
Sarah was intrigued. “So if AT&T lays off two thousand employees…”
“They’re required by law to report that to the public, and more importantly, their investors, all at the exact same moment. We make that happen.”
“I had no idea a company like that existed.”
“Most people don’t, but without us, the stock market would be a very different place.”
“Wow. Impressive. Maybe you can tell me more about it sometime.” She inclined her head to the door. “For now, I better head out. It’s time to pick up my daughter.”
“Oh, you have a child?”
“An eight-year-old, yes. She’s in summer camp and my father picks her up for me when I’m working.”
“You didn’t mention that when I hired you.”
“Is it a problem? I can have them send someone else if—”
“No, of course not. I’m sorry.” Emory straightened. “I didn’t mean to keep you.”
“No, I don’t mind.” She casually touched Emory’s arm as she made her way out of the kitchen. “I enjoyed hearing about your work. It sounds exciting.” And she genuinely meant it. She liked meeting new people and had a habit of making friends with the clients she worked for. It was yet another trait she’d inherited from her gregarious mother, an outwardly friendly disposition. Emory Owen, however, was an interesting departure from the upper middle class families that typically hired the agency. Her high-powered corporate lifestyle was fascinating, if not a little intimidating.
Sarah shrugged off thoughts of Emory as she opened the door to her apartment in the southern part of San Diego. Time to leave work at work.
“Mama!” Grace rounded the corner carrying with her a small shiny blue bowl. “Today at camp we made pottery and guess what?”
“What?” Sarah wrapped her up in a warm greeting and kissed her cheek about three dozen times before examining the bowl with exaggerated appreciation.
“We baked it in the oven to make it hard as a rock.”
“Wow, little monster, that’s crazy good. From the looks of this masterpiece, you might be a real-life artist.” Sarah held the bowl up in appreciation and watched as Grace’s eyes shone brightly at the thought.
“Do you think I could be an artist, Papi?” Grace raced back into the kitchen to get her grandfather’s opinion. Sarah followed just in time to hear her father’s response as he laid down the newspaper in contemplation.
“No question, Graciela. You could do it, if anyone could. You’re destined for great things.”
Sarah placed a kiss on his expectant cheek. “I agree. Now, if we can just get the aspiring artist to keep her room clean, we’ll be in business. Thank you for picking her up today. This job is going to take a little longer than Mama initially thought. You wouldn’t believe this place if I told you. It’s humongous.”
“Maybe your mother should send you some help,” he said.
“No, I can do it. Mama’s overloaded as is. What she really needs is to hire more workers, but she’s so particular about who’s good enough. It’s a losing battle with her.”
“She’s a stubborn woman. Just like her own mama and just like someone else I know, carita. See you tomorrow.” He bopped her on the head with his newspaper as he passed.
*
Emory sat in the darkness of her mother’s kitchen, nursing her second dry martini. The alcohol had loosened the pent up thoughts in her head. Alone in the house, she could feel the memories, or ironically, lack thereof, swirl all around her, and it was proving too hard to push them aside.
She’d not allowed herself to think much about her mother, not fully, and it had been a good decision. It was best to just move forward. If her mother were here, that’s what she would tell her, just as she’d told her when her father died sixteen years earlier. All emotion should be controlled, managed, minimized. But it felt increasingly like the night was closing in on her, and Emory finally gave in.
Her mind drifted to the Christmases her family shared together when she and Vanessa returned home from boarding school. She thought of the designer sweaters she’d received at seven years old in place of the frivolous items like paints and brushes she’d begged her parents for. Then there were the “family” vacations from which her on-site nannies appear in more photos than her parents do. She shook her head at how desperately she’d wanted to be noticed by her parents, and how she would have given anything to make them happy, proud of her just a little.
Emory stood and wandered to one of the pristine couches in the living room, intent on sleeping off some of the Grey Goose before driving home. And then it hit her. Here she was, thirty-two years old, and she would never have that chance now. They were gone. It was over. She closed her eyes, understanding fully that she would forever remain a disappointment. The thought was sobering.
Chapter Three
“You know, I don’t think there’s a drink in the entire world I’d like better than raspberry iced tea. It’s what heaven must be like.” Sarah glanced down at the tall, glistening glass in her hand and turned to face Carmen. “It really is the most remarkable beverage.”
Her childhood friend shook her head in amusement. “It doesn’t take a lot to make you happy, you know that?”
“Not true. I’ll get back to you when I win the lottery and move to Hawaii.” She punctuated the last word with a raising of her eyebrows and a deep pull on her straw as she stared dreamily into the sky. It was Saturday and Grace was spending the night with her cousins. Sarah welcomed the opportunity for a little girl talk with Carmen at Sabro’s, the little outdoor café they frequented.
“Anything else I can get for you, ladies?” the waitress asked as she cleared the dinner dishes from their table.
“I think we’re going to need another round, if I know my thirsty friend here.” Carmen angled her thumb at Sarah who nodded happily.
“So what else is new with you?” Carmen asked, turning her attention back to Sarah fully. “We haven’t talked in over a week. It feels weird not to see my best friend for days on end. I’m neglected.”
“I know, and I’m sorry. We picked up kind of a big job and Mama was shorthanded, so I took it.” Carmen Alcocer had been Sarah’s best friend since she’d moved to San Diego as a child. They’d lived two doors down from each other through the entirety of their growing up years, and there was no one closer to her in the world. “You know something, it’s actually kind of nice to be out in the field. You should see this place, Carmen. You would die.”
“It’s in bad shape?” She played with her straw.
“Not even close. It’s a mansion, at least, and in absolutely pristine condition. It’s like no one ever really lived there. They just came by to take tours and snap photos. The warmth is completely absent. No family photographs on the wall, no greeting cards tucked away or messages on the refrigerator. It’s completely presentational.” Sarah shrugged, mystified.
“I don’t think I could be comfortable in a place like that. I don’t care how luxurious it was.”
“Me neither. I don’t see the appeal of having nice things if you never use them. I kind of feel sorry for the woman in a way and her daughters too.”
“Her daughters?”
“Yeah, she apparently has two. Her younger daughter is the one who hired me.”
“What’s she like?”
“Beautiful, successful, rich, and she knows it. Outside of that, I can’t tell you much. It must have been a cold place to grow up though. You can’t fault her for how she turned out.”
“Well,” Carmen began, tossing her napkin onto the table, “as much as I’d like to stay and talk with you for another hour or five, Roman, lord of the manor, will be home soon and complaining obnoxiously about the whereabouts of his dinner. If I didn’t love him, I’d kill him.”
Sarah laughed. “Geez, another reason I long desperately to be married again.”
“Oh, you’ll get your turn. In fact, I’ve been waiting for the right moment to mention this. I have someone who I think would be perfect for you. Before you say anything, hear me out.”
Sarah groaned loudly and nudged Carmen’s shoulder with her own as they walked down the sidewalk to their cars. “No, Carmen, no more setups. Absolutely not. They never work out, and I always wind up feeling like a failure.” So she sounded like a petulant child, that’s how she felt. She had her daughter to consider, and maybe that made her standards way too high. At any rate, she was exhausted from Carmen’s endless setups and was coming to the conclusion that she was best on her own. She and Grace against the world. That’s how it should be. End of story.
“Before you hang up your little black cocktail dress for life, just go out with this last one. His name is James and he’s an architect who works on the job site with Roman.”
“An architect?” Sarah couldn’t help but perk up a tad. An architect did sound promising—a steady job, an education—maybe one date wouldn’t hurt. “All right, all right. I can get behind one date, but don’t get your hopes up.” She sighed. “Is he free Friday?”
“I’ll check,” Carmen practically sang. “Did I mention he’s an architect?” Her eyes sparkled in matchmaker victory.
*
Emory didn’t make it to her mother’s house the next day or the two days after that. She had meetings late into each evening and was still playing catch-up from the days she’d been out the two weeks prior.
She decided to check in with Lucy on her way out for the day, knowing she’d be working late on the sales kit redesign and going over the mock-ups with a fine tooth comb. She stuck her head into Lucy’s office and smiled. “I guess you win tonight. I’m out.”
Lucy swiveled around in her chair and jokingly patted herself on the back. “It’s rare that I outlast the boss. I accept the victory proudly. I would like to thank God and Red Bull.” Her light brown hair was pulled back loosely into a clasp at the back of her neck, and she’d already removed the designer jacket and heels she’d worn to work that day. Emory knew her well enough to tell that she was settling in. “I’ve got at least another hour, maybe two, probably three. I’m proud of you for breaking away though. You’ve been working like a crazy person.”
Emory shot Lucy a wry look, smiling internally at the irony. “Says the girl who has at least another hour, probably three.”
“Hey, that’s why you pay me the big bucks. Plans for tonight? Hot date? Please say no. I haven’t had a date in months and I’ll die.”
“Nope. You’re destined to survive. I need to head over to Mother’s and see how it’s coming. I think I’ll pick up a pizza first. Starving. Today got away from me and I never caught up.” She rubbed the back of her neck in defeat.
“Did you use the service I suggested?”
“Yeah. They sent someone over. She seems competent enough. She dances.” Emory smiled as she thought back to the scene she’d interrupted earlier in the week.
“I’m sorry. She dances?”
“Never mind.” She waved off the comment. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
When she arrived at the house this time, she considered knocking so as not to startle Sarah. Exhaustion precluded those plans, however, and Emory opened the door with purpose. Hunger trumps manners, she thought. Everyone knows that.
She was impressed actually, to see Sarah’s car still parked out front. She thought there was a strong chance she would have left for the day. Apparently, Sarah shared Emory’s strong work ethic. She wasn’t in the least bit prepared, however, for the mountainous display of boxes that greeted her in the entryway. Emory gazed in amazement at nearly one hundred tightly packed boxes, stacked systematically along each wall. Upon further examination, Emory could see that affixed to each box was a typed up label detailing each and every item the box contained. As she studied one of the labels, still in amazement at the organization she was witnessing, Sarah appeared carrying yet another labeled box.
“Oh, hey, Emory,” she said cheerfully. “Better day at work today?”
“A little, thank you,” she answered absently. Her mind was still focused on the overwhelming progress Sarah had made in just the few days since she’d been to the house. “Did the agency send you help?” She set the pizza on the small table.
Sarah glanced at the boxes and then back to Emory. “No, still just me. But not to worry, I’m getting there little by little.”
“I’ll say. I can’t believe you’ve done all of this. I’m utterly shocked.”
Sarah, who now seemed to understand that Emory was impressed and not concerned, smiled. And it was a nice smile. Warm. “I just try to stay systematic with my approach so as to not overwhelm myself. One room at a time.”
“And the labels?”
“Right. I hope it was okay that I used the PC in the office to print them out. I thought it would make it easier if I cataloged each item for you, just in case. There’s a master list of everything I’ve packed and that can be cross-referenced with the box numbers located on the upper right hand corner of each label. The boxes are stacked in order as well, so if there was an item or keepsake I didn’t know to set aside for you, it could be easily located and retrieved.”
Emory didn’t know what to say.
“I’m sorry. Should I have checked with you first?”
“No, no. This is just more than I had imagined. I have to admit, I’m beyond impressed.” And she was. She liked the way Sarah had come in and taken it upon herself to organize such a detailed system. This woman was a go-getter.
Sarah beamed even brighter at Emory. “Thank you.” And then she appeared to relax a little. “I was worried you’d be upset. You seem like someone who likes things done a certain way.” She turned then moved back into the living room and began taping up yet another box.
Emory was intrigued by the comment and couldn’t resist following Sarah into the next room. “What makes you say that?”
Sarah gestured to Emory’s designer suit. “You run a very successful company and didn’t get there by accident.”
“True. But I could never have implemented all this. I’m the least organized person you’ll ever meet. That’s what I have assistants for.” As the comment left her mouth, she heard how arrogant it sounded. For some reason, the idea of hurting Sarah’s feelings didn’t sit well with her and she scrambled to take back her words. “What I mean is—”
Sarah looked up and offered a tilt of her head, accompanied by a soft smile. “It’s okay to have assistants who do things for you. If you didn’t, you’d never be able to focus on your job and run your company.”
Emory nodded once, and stared at her shoes, a little off-kilter in a very strange way. She felt like she’d drawn a line in the sand between her and Sarah, and she didn’t like it. Why in the hell she cared what Sarah thought of her, she had no idea. Shaking it off, she lifted the box in an offering of peace. “Pizza?”
Sarah hesitated, but her eyes gave her away. She was starving, Emory could tell.
“Go ahead, please. You’re bound to be hungry. It’s close to seven.” Sarah still seemed reluctant. “Tell you what. I’m going to sit on the patio and enjoy the view while I eat. Why don’t you fix a plate and join me? That way you can fill me in on your progress and I can answer any questions you have. It’ll be a working dinner.”
“All right. Thanks.”
“Perfect.”
Emory made her way out onto her mother’s deck and looked out over the lush lawns kept green for decades by the family’s hired landscaping service. At the far portion of the yard stood a bubbling brook, manmade of course, capped off with a lazy waterfall. She’d always enjoyed spending time in the backyard growing up. It was her favorite spot on the property.
Sarah joined her on the deck then, pulling her from her thoughts. She had taken the ponytail down and her thick, dark hair now fell around her shoulders in generous waves. Catching her curious look, Sarah glanced upward, signaling her new hairstyle. “Sorry if it’s crazy. I keep it pulled back while I work.”
Emory nodded, but was keenly aware of the fact that she hadn’t actually taken the time to look at Sarah, or at least really look at her. Until now. Suddenly, that’s all she wanted to do. Sarah’s skin was a very smooth olive, and her eyelashes were long and dark and really just pointlessly attractive. And was she mistaken, or were her eyes a combination of light hazel and possibly a little bit of green? Unusual…pretty. How had she missed this before?
“What?” Sarah asked. “Do I have sauce on my face?”
“Not at all. Sorry, I was just…nothing.”
They ate their pizza in companionable silence for a few moments, Emory savoring the warm mozzarella and melt in your mouth crust as the fatigue of the day seemed to fall away with the re-nourishment process.
“It’s beautiful out here,” Sarah finally said. “Did you spend much time out here when you were young?”
Emory nodded. “I did. It was one of my favorite places to be actually. I used to paint.” Before the words even left her mouth, Emory was shocked she’d said them. Where had that come from exactly? She hadn’t talked with anyone about her painting in years.
“You did?” Sarah sat up straighter. “That’s awesome. Are you any good?”
Emory laughed at the question and tenacity of the woman asking it. “Some of my instructors used to think so. They said I had a rare talent. I’m not sure if that’s true or not. But it doesn’t matter. I don’t paint anymore.”
“And why is that?” Sarah asked.
Emory sat forward and removed her gray suit jacket, leaving her clad in her gray slacks and short sleeve white dress shirt. She slipped out of her heels and pulled her legs beneath her. She used the movement to stall, realizing this wasn’t a topic she wanted to delve into. The past was the past. Yet, somehow Sarah put her at ease. Her presence was nonthreatening. “It wasn’t practical. You have to understand, I come from a family where success is measured in dollar signs within the confines of a world in which societal perception is everything. Art is for people like us to admire, not create. That’s a direct quote from my mother, by the way. It didn’t matter how much I wanted to be an artist. It was a nonissue. So after some crying, some soul-searching, and a few deep breaths, I grew up and joined the real world. I applied to Stanford the next week and never looked back. I haven’t picked up a brush since.”
Sarah looked at her with sadness and maybe a little bit of shock. “You must have cared a lot about what your parents thought of you to give up something you were so passionate about.”
Emory smiled wryly and took another bite of her pizza. “Unfortunately, I did. My father died of a heart attack when I was a teenager so my focus fell squarely on my mother’s attention. I guess you could say I failed miserably from her vantage point at pretty much everything. We never really saw eye to eye.”
“I’m sure that’s not true.” Sarah reached across the space between them and placed a reassuring hand on Emory’s arm. Emory studied the hand and smiled, again surprised at herself for not pulling away from someone offering comfort. There had been so much of that lately. Maybe, she reasoned, it was because Sarah wasn’t directly connected to her everyday life. She was a virtual stranger. And something about her spoke of kindness.
“Thank you for saying that, but it is. I knew my mother well and am very aware of the shortcomings she perceived in me. My older sister, Vanessa, was the golden child, not me. It’s a fact of life I’ve learned to deal with. So the answer to your question, Sarah,” she said, standing and taking both of their plates, “is that yes, I spent a great deal of time out here and will remember this view fondly when it’s sold. Hopefully, very, very soon.” She moved quickly into the house then, sticking her head out the door wearily one last time. “Maybe we can talk about the house tomorrow? I don’t think I’m up to it today after all.”
“Of course,” Sarah answered. “Whatever works best.”
*
Emory had only been home an hour, but she was restless. Her mind was racing, and as much as she tried to concentrate on the sales report in front of her, she simply couldn’t focus. The conversation she’d had with Sarah came back to her again and again. She hadn’t opened up to anyone about her parents in a long time. Now that the lid had been pulled from the box, it was as if she couldn’t get it back into place. She made an impulsive, albeit executive decision. She was going out. She needed to take her mind off all that troubled her, and a dark, overly loud nightclub would suffice. Without allowing herself time to think, she changed into her low-slung faded jeans and purple tank top, grabbed her keys, and drove her Jaguar FX to The Edge.
The club was especially crowded for a Tuesday night. The lights were low, the music was loud, and she could feel the regulars’ eyes on her as she casually made her way past them to the bar. Emory was well aware of the fact that she’d been placed at the top of the eligibility list in the San Diego single scene. If she overheard a “damn,” as she walked by from some of her more aggressive admirers, she didn’t let on and she didn’t care. Years ago, comments like that were what fed her, kept her ego afloat, but nowadays they did little more than annoy her. Since the breakup with Lucy, she’d had virtually zero interest in dating, realizing there was no room in her life for someone else, and she was perfectly fine with that. She was better on her own, stronger, and more effective.
She was in another space tonight, however. She ordered a Kentucky mule and made her way to the familiar table to the left of the bar where she’d spent many a night in her more carefree days. Just as she imagined they would be, several friends of hers were chatting animatedly over the thrum of the music. The women in her set weren’t your typical club kid fare. Each of them was smart, successful, and from lots and lots of money. Most of the girls knew each other from prep school, with a few connections made at the odd charity event or business luncheon. This was a powerful group of women and they knew it.
“Am I hallucinating, or is Emory Owen making an appearance in the world outside of her office?” Mia feigned shock as Emory closed the gap to their table. Mia Parsons was an up-and-coming attorney at Taylor and Fullbright and the consummate socialite. She worked hard and played hard and everyone liked and feared her equally.
Emory moved into Mia’s open arms. “You’re hysterical, Mia. So how is everyone tonight?” Emory regarded the table of three women, two of which she hadn’t seen in several months.
“Better now that you’re here,” Barrett said. “We were all so sorry to hear about your mother, Em. We’ve missed you. I wish you’d come out more often and let us take care of you. You know, be your friends.”
Emory smiled in Barrett’s direction. Barrett’s kind eyes penetrated the bubble she’d placed around herself, and she was genuinely happy to see her. Of all of her friends, Barrett was the most down-to-earth, and she could always count on her. She made a mental note to not let so much time go by without calling her next time. “I got your messages, Barrett, thank you. It’s just been a busy time.”
“Well, if there’s anything I can do, just let me know. When I lost my dad, it took quite a while before I got back in the swing of things.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Ditto,” Christi Ann chimed in. Emory suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. She couldn’t think of a single instance when the vapid Christi Ann had been there for anyone. She was more interested in who she could suck up to and who she could tear down behind the scenes. She’d known Christi Ann since the second grade and she had the girl’s number.
“Again, thanks, guys, but I think what I need right now is a dance, so if you’ll excuse me.” Emory noticed the young blonde leaning up against the bar. The one who’d been clearly checking her out since she’d walked in the place. Without a second thought, she took a mollifying swig of her drink and left it on the table, intent on one thing, mindless distraction. She made brief eye contact with the blonde and inclined her head toward the dance floor in silent invitation. She maintained an even pace, confident in every way that the girl was trailing behind her. She felt a hand move down her back and smiled as she turned, pulling the girl tightly up against her body.
They danced, hips pressed together, bodies moving to the techno beat blaring from the club’s speakers, hands moving freely across shoulders, stomachs, thighs. Two songs in, Emory slowly began to let herself drift into the unassuming connection she’d created with a nameless, faceless individual on a dance floor—someone she owed nothing to and expected very little from. “I’m Aimee,” the woman whispered seductively in her ear once the music shifted to a slower, more sensual ballad. But Emory didn’t care and, in fact, would prefer not to know.
“Emory,” she answered back out of nothing more than a sense of polite obligation.
“I know exactly who you are.” Well, so much for an anonymous interlude.
The song ended, but Emory wasn’t finished with what she’d started. She allowed the blonde to tug her gently into a darkened corner of the club where they could get better acquainted. Aimee pressed her back up against the brick wall and pulled Emory slowly to her. Emory smiled at her would-be conquest with enough heat to make the girl grip her tightly for support. She was aware of the power she wielded and couldn’t help but like it. Her sex appeal had always been a valuable tool in her arsenal, and she wasn’t afraid to use it when the time was right. Tonight, she had one goal and one goal only. Total and complete diversion and Allie—or was it Aimee—would fit that bill nicely. She dipped her head in slowly and captured Aimee’s lower lip between her own and kissed gently, steadily and then quickened the pace. Aimee reciprocated easily, though it was clear who was in charge. Even though Emory’s lips were occupied, the rest of her was having difficulty following suit. She tried hard to free her mind and allow her body to react to the sensations that should be assaulting her in the arms of this ripe and ready twentysomething, but they simply weren’t there. Finally, she wrenched her mouth away and stared blankly at the brick wall. “I’m sorry. I have to go.”
“Is everything okay? Did I do something wrong?” Aimee asked. Her wide eyes searched Emory’s in the dimness of the club.
Emory did her best to smile reassuringly. “Completely me. I think I need some sleep.” She took a step back and turned to go.
“Can I get your number then?”
Emory froze and thought carefully about how to handle this situation. She had no intention of seeing Aimee again but also felt no desire to hurt her feelings. “Why don’t you give me yours?” She pulled her BlackBerry from her back pocket and obediently typed Aimee-with-two-e’s number into her phone, and with a quick good-bye to her friends, was driving home, listening to soft jazz, and thinking fleetingly of a pair of understanding hazel eyes.
Chapter Four
So it turned out he was cute, handsome even, and well dressed. Sarah sipped her sangria and watched cautiously as James surveyed the dessert menu. Dinner had gone well. They’d chatted easily about their jobs, families, and even football, a sport Sarah felt beyond passionate about. She smiled to herself and marveled at the fact that one of Carmen’s setups might actually pan out.
“Why don’t you choose for us?” James said. He handed the small menu to Sarah and smiled. “They all sound wonderful to me.”
Sarah certainly had no problem choosing and zeroed in on the warm pecan pie and vanilla ice cream, her mouth already watering. They placed their order with the waiter and settled in for more conversation.
James relaxed easily into the plush chair. “Tell me about your daughter.” He seemed genuinely interested, and that scored major points with Sarah. Not many of the men she’d gone out with had so much as mentioned Grace on their own. This was promising, very promising indeed. As long as he didn’t live with his mother, they might be in business.
“Well, she’s eight years old and about as precocious as they come, interested in everything. Yesterday, she asked me if she could start drinking espresso, because that’s what the Italians did. I love her to pieces, but I may have my hands full when she’s older.” She smiled widely just thinking about Grace and then played back how that must have sounded. Maybe she shouldn’t point out that her child was odd.
“She sounds like a lot of fun.”
“Oh, she’s definitely that and more, a laugh a minute, that kid.”
The car ride to her apartment was quiet with the exception of the radio playing softly. Sarah couldn’t help but wonder if James would expect to be invited in, and if so, how she would go about explaining to him that she just, well, didn’t go there on the first date. Grace was spending the night with her parents, and that left the apartment empty. She didn’t want him to get the wrong idea.
As he followed her to her door, her anxiety only grew, and she was already formulating her polite explanation. But to her amazement, he paused on the front step and took her hand in his. “I had a wonderful time with you tonight, Sarah. You’re everything Carmen said you would be. I’d love to see you again, that is, if you’d like to.”
