Page 17 of It's a Widow Thing

“I remember. Tell me. What’s going on?”

Michael’s mind eagerly drifted back to the kiss last night and the brush of her silk blouse against his skin when he’d gripped her waist. That moment—the one where he thought he had a chance—had played over in his head countless times since Sabrina made her abrupt departure. “I had her over for dinner last night. I cooked, we had a great meal, talked a bunch, and then we ended up on the couch.”

“From the tone of your voice, I’d say things didn’t go well.”

His mind stubbornly changed channels, flipping from the kiss to Sabrina’s escape from his apartment. “Not exactly. We kissed for a while and it got pretty hot and heavy, but then it all went sideways. She sort of dropped a bomb on me.” He swallowed hard. “It turns out she’s a widow. And she’s clearly feeling skittish about physical intimacy.”

“Oh, Michael. You need to be careful,” Alyshia said without hesitation. “This isn’t just any woman, especially if you care about her.”

I do care about her.“Yeah, I realize that.”

“Do you know anything about what happened? How long it’s been since he passed away? Has she even been with another man since then? These are all things you need to know.”

Michael leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and running his hand back and forth over his head. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Make a sweet gesture. Bring her flowers or a box of cookies or, I don’t know, offer to take out her trash. Let her know you’re still interested after last night. A woman in her situation is expecting a guy like you to jump ship.”

“A guy like me? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean, Mr. Smooth. She knows you’re a player. Every woman with a brain knows that.”

He grimaced.Please don’t say player.He hated that Alyshia, or any woman, thought of him that way.“Hey, that’s not fair. You’re thinking about the old me. I’m not like that anymore.”

“Uh, remember the date you brought to Zoe’s christening?”

Oh, yeah, that was bad.“That was seven years ago.”

“And we’re all glad you’ve grown up and are interested in women who are old enough to rent a car. All I’m saying is that you’d better be damn sure you really are ready to take a relationship seriously.”

“I’ve told you I am. We’ve talked about this.”

“I know, hon. I do. And I want that for you. But if you chase her and actually catch her, it’s going to be a disaster if you break her heart.”

“What if she breaks mine?”

“That’s also a possibility. There are zero guarantees.”

He usually avoided complications, but that had left him lonely and bordering on miserable. He wouldn’t run from Sabrina. They’d started something last night, something that went beyond the physical. He knew it in his gut. He had to see what was next, experience what could happen between them, no matter where it ended.

Alyshia continued. “See where the sweet gesture gets you. That’ll tell you a lot about what she’s thinking. If nothing else, it’s what a good friend would do.”

Sweet I can do.“Okay, thanks. I really appreciate it. Brian’s a lucky bastard. You know that don’t you?”Maybe I’ll be that lucky one day.

“See what I mean? Smooth.” Alyshia let out a deep belly laugh. “Good luck and keep me posted.”

Michael said goodbye and knew one thing—he wouldn’t waste the weekend in his apartment alone when Sabrina was down the hall and there were so many unanswered questions. He tossed on a pair of jeans and a sweater and headed downstairs and around the corner to the coffee shop, where he got two coffees and an assortment of pastries. He hurried back upstairs and went straight to Sabrina’s apartment. No sense going back home and giving himself a chance to chicken out.

When she answered the door, she surprised him yet again. Her eyes were bright and wide-awake, face scrubbed beautifully clean, hair back in a sexy, messy ponytail. “Hey,” she said, her eyes wide with surprise. The creamy skin of her shoulder, interrupted only by the skinny strap of a purple tank top, called to him. “If you came to steal my crossword, I only get the paper on Sundays. I thought you knew that.”

“I do know that. Not here for the crossword.”

“I’m surprised you’re talking to me after last night.”

Still stuck on how striking she was when she wasn’t done up and polished, Michael resorted to his only ammunition. He held up the bakery bag. “Would I have brought coffee cake if I was mad?”

She smiled sweetly and opened the door to let him in. “If you’re trying to sway me with sugar, it’s working.”

Sabrina’s apartment was sunny and not because of the weather or time of day. It had a killer mix of modern and vintage furnishings in every color of the rainbow. She had a bright pink mid-century sofa with an enormous, framedSingin’ in the Rainposter above it, flanked by an unmatched pair of 50s-era lamps on side tables. From everything he could see, she was in the midst of a love affair with aqua. “Your apartment is so different from mine.” He set the coffees and bag on the counter, orienting himself. He’d always imagined her tastes were in line with the way she presented herself—in black or gray, sometimes red or deep purple, always ultra-modern.