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“Jane.”
“Martin. You whistled?” She laid the rancor on thick. No need to tap dance around.
“Jane, I’m sorry. I was going to tell you today. Or tonight. The point is, I was going to tell you, and then we could still see if you and I—”
“You’re an actor,” Jane said as though “actor” and “bastard” were synonymous.
“Yes, but, but . . .”He looked around as though for cue cards.
“But you’re desperately in love with me,” she prompted him. “I’m unbelievably beautiful, and I make you feel like yourself. Oh, and I remind you of your sister.”
The chirpy brunette behind the counter furiously refused to look up from her monitor.
“Jane, please.”
“And the suddenly passionate feelings that sent you running after me at the airport have nothing to do with Mrs. Wattles-brook’s fear that I’ll write a negative review of Pembrook Park.”
“No! Listen, I know I was a cad, and I lied and was misleading, and I’ve never actually been an NBA fan—go United—but romances have bloomed on stonier ground.”
“Romances . . . stonier ground . . . Did Mrs. Wattlesbrook write that line?”
Martin exhaled in exasperation.
Thinking of Molly’s dead end on the background check, she asked, “Your name’s not really Martin Jasper, is it?”
“Well,” he looked at the brunette as though for help. “Well, it is Martin.”
The brunette smiled encouragement.
Then, impossibly, another figure ran toward her. The sideburns and stiff-collared jacket looked ridiculous out of the context of Pembrook Park, though he’d stuck on a baseball cap and trench coat, trying to blend. His face was flushed from running, and when he saw Jane, he sighed with relief.
Jane dropped her jaw. Literally. She had never, even in her most ridiculous daydreaming, imagined that Mr. Nobley would come after her. She took a step back, hit something slick with her boot heel, and tottered almost to the ground. Mr. Nobley caught her and set her back up on her feet.
Is this why women wear heels? thought Jane. We hobble ourselves so we can still be rescued by men?
She annoyed herself by having enjoyed it. Briefly.
“You haven’t left yet,” Nobley said. He seemed reluctant to let go of her, but he did and took a few steps back. “I’ve been panicked that . . .” He saw Martin. “What are you doing here?”
The brunette was watching with hungry intensity, though she kept tapping at a keyboard as though actually very busy at work.
“Jane and I got close these past weeks and—” Martin began.
“Got close. That’s a load of duff. It’s one thing when you’re toying with the dowagers who guess what you are, but Jane should be off limits.” He took her arm. “You can’t believe a word he says. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you earlier, but you must know now that he’s an actor.”
“I know,” Jane said.
Nobley blinked. “Oh.”
“So, what are you doing here?” She couldn’t help it if her tone sounded a little tired. This was becoming farcical.
“I came to tell you that I—” he rushed to speak, then composed himself, looked around, and stepped closer to her so he did not need to raise his voice to be heard. The brunette leaned forward just a tad.
“I apologize for having to tell you here, in this busy, dirty . . . this is not the scene I would set, but you must know that I . . .” He took off his cap and rubbed his hair ragged. “I’ve been working at Pembrook Park for nearly four years. All the women I see, week after week, they’re the same. Nearly from the first, that morning when we were alone in the park, I guessed that you might be different. You were sincere.”
He reached for her hand. He seemed to gain confidence, his lips started to smile, and he looked at her as though he never wished to look away.
Zing, she thought, out of habit mostly, because she wasn’t buying any of it.
