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He hesitates, before swallowing my hand in his large one. “Max. Sorry, I guess I should have said that as soon as you opened the door. Let me try again.”
Releasing my hand, he says, “Hi, I’m Max and I moved in next door yesterday. Would you, by any chance, be willing to take pity on me and offer me a cup of coffee?” He smiles and I notice his dimples hiding behind the scruff covering the lower half of this face.
“C’mon in.” He seems harmless enough, but when he smiles, it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
As he walks past me into the house, a citrus scent hits my nostrils, which tells me he might look scruffy but he’s certainly clean.
“The kitchen is through here.” I lead the way, wondering what’s going on with him.
Until I opened the door, I wasn’t planning on being very hospitable considering I wanted to be left alone, but now my curiosity is piqued.
“Take a seat.” I open the cupboard and search through the jars of things I’d discovered when I arrived. “I’m sure I spotted a jar of coffee in here.”
“You don’t drink coffee.”
I turn to answer Max and see his eyes on me as he yawns behind his hand.
“Decaf. The regular stuff will have to wait a while.”
He glances at my stomach before meeting my eyes again.
It’s my secret to keep, but something is making me want to tell the man sitting at my table. He looks as though he could do with someone to talk to as well.
“Is that why you’re running?”
“I’m no
t running,” I quickly reply.
I am running though, in a way.
“My relationship with the father was . . . different. I don’t know how else to describe it. I loved him. I still do. I’m just not sure he loved me as much as he said he did.” I shrug and turn away, back to making the coffee as a tear slips down my cheek.
I swipe it away with impatience. Tears are banned.
With a heavy sigh, I take the cup of coffee over to Max and pass him the tin with biscuits in. “Help yourself.”
I join him at the table and after a few minutes of silence, while I watch him wake up as he consumes the coffee, I ask, “So what are you running from?”
His eyes shoot to mine, which I hold. “You know why I’m here alone, it’s only fair.” I smile. “Besides, if we’re going to be friends, then you need to talk to me.”
I’m rewarded with the first real smile as his eyes dance with amusement before they cloud over again with sadness.
“You might not want to be friends when I tell you why I’ve suddenly moved here.”
“You haven’t murdered someone, have you?”
He chuckles, his eyes stay flat. “No, I haven’t . . . yet.”
That doesn’t sound good.
“Yet?” I raise a brow in question.
“I’m a college professor, or was. A colleague wanted my position with a desperation I’ve never known before. So he decided to follow me, unbeknown to me. He discovered that I was living with someone, as in having a relationship with them.” He takes a sip of his coffee.
“I don’t see where this is going.”
“The relationship I was in was with another guy.”
