He reaches for his phone. “Sounds great.”
I wonder what he’s eager to see. Could he be expecting a message from another woman? Perhaps that’s the problem. Maybe he’s secretly married. I shake my head. I’m driving myself mad.
As I slice some marble cheese, I decide to knock it off.Just talk to him,Mischahad suggested, and I think it’s excellent advice. As much as I don’t want to pry, I need to. I’m going insane imagining the worst. One minute he’s a drug dealer. The next he’s married. The next he’s a gold digger, hacking into my bank accounts.
He’s all smiles when I walk back in the bedroom with a platter of goodies, wearing nothing but his t-shirt and my lace panties.
He throws his cell at the end of the bed, and helps himself to a grape. We chat about work and my friends. I tell him all about the goings-on of Mischa’s life, and he seems amused. We never talk about his buddies, or his family for that matter. Why doesn’t he have friends? Why haven’t I met his family yet? I inhale a deep breath, reminding myself to be sane.
“So when am I going to meet your friends?” I ask between bites.
He stiffens. “Uh… I don’t really have a lot of friends. They’re all in… Nashville… or on the other side of Chicago.”
I’m definitely not satisfied with his answer. “What about your family?”
He throws a half-eaten slice of cheese back on the plate. “I told you… I’m not close to my family. I haven’t met yours either,” he points out.
“Well, I told you all about my family,” I scoff, annoyed as hell. “Both my parents are dead, and my brothers are dipshits I never got along with.”
“Sorry,” he says quietly.
I have so many questions. I know he hates them, but I need to ask them. If I don’t, I may very well go insane. “What made you decide to move here… to Wicker Park?” I ask tentatively. “To Orchard Heights?”
He studies me for a long beat. He doesn’t say a thing for the longest time. He sits up against the headboard and finally manages, “I saw an ad in the paper. My lease was almost up, and I wanted a change. I’d just broken up with my girlfriend and… I figured I’d try something new. And Wicker Park is the coolest neighborhood around,” he adds with his trademark grin. “Being a musician, I thought I’d fit in.”
I smile. “You do.”
He throws his arms up. “And look at this place,” he says. “Orchard Heights is killer.”
I laugh. “It’s sure a long way from home for me,” I add. I glance at the bright space, high coffered ceilings, beautiful architecture and luxurious furniture and bedding. It’s certainly a far cry from the dingy mobile home I grew up in.
I don’t know what possesses me to utter my next words, but they certainly surprise the both of us. “I don’t know you.”
He jerks around to face me. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know you, Noah,” I repeat.
“What? You know me. You know what I do for a living. Where I went to school. You know what I like to eat…”
“Yeah, but what about your family… your friends?”
He exhales a long audible breath and throws a cushion at the wall.”Why do you care so much, Abby?”
“I don’t trust you,” I finally confess.
His jaw drops momentarily, and he quickly regains his composure. He doesn’t seem angry, just incredibly hurt. Somehow he expected this. He turns from me, and slips on his boxers. “I care about you, Abby… so much.”
I know.
“But maybe it’s better if we take a break. I’m no good for you.”
My breath hitches. This isn’t what I want. Not at all.
He turns to me. “You’re doing so well. You have a job you love and great friends.” He glances up at the ceiling. “And this place.”
What is he saying? What is he trying to tell me? Is it over?
His beautiful blue eyes fix me, and there’s so much pain in them. “I just wanted to know that you’re all right. And you are.”
