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“Nothing, Mrs. Leets.”
“It’s good to have you home,” she offered with a friendly smile.
“It’s good to be home.” He stopped to watch her carefully pull off a couple of dead leaves. “How’s your back?”
“Better.” She smiled at him again. “I never did thank you properly for helping me move that couch.” She’d been rearranging her living room the last time he was home. Said the sun was fading the fabric on her couch.
“No problem.” He was glad he’d been there when she needed him. Chances weren’t in favor of that. “You want anything else moved, you just let me know.”
“I will.”
He had things to do here. Laundry to send out and pick up. Mail to get through. He’d scheduled himself home for the entire week, intending to spend a good fifty hours or more at the Smythe and Westbourne office.
But he packed anyway. Just an overnight bag. And drove himself to the airport. Pulling out his credit card, he paid for a flight to Cincinnati, then sat down waiting for it to be called. He had no idea what he was doing. Or why.
OKAY. He knew why he was here. He had to see her.
She was his friend, for God’s sake. He could spare a few hours to make sure she was all right.
To congratulate her. Swerving into a small plaza on the corner by her condo, Michael jumped out and grabbed a bottle of champagne. Dom Perignon. Her favorite.
He was back in the rental before he realized she probably couldn’t even drink the damn stuff.
Her condo looked the same as always. Same yard. Same trees. Same Infiniti parked in the drive. So why did everything feel different? As though he’d stepped into someone else’s life.
Hurrying up the walk, he rang the bell, giving himself no time to reconsider—to run.
“Congratulations!” He forced the hearty greeting as soon as she opened her door, handing over the bottle. “Guess you’ll have to wait until later to drink it.”
“Michael?” She took the champagne. Of course, he’d given her little choice, shoving it into her arms that way.
She looked the same, too. Sort of. She didn’t look like a mother or an
ything.
“Well, see ya,” he said, turned and headed down the walk again, toward the car.
“Michael Kennedy, get back here!”
He stopped but didn’t turn. He’d done what he came to do. Now he had to run.
“If you’ve ever cared for me a stitch in your life, you won’t just leave it like this.”
Damn her.
“Like what?” He played stupid. Except that he wasn’t playing. Glancing at her, he shook his head. He was moving through some surreal version of his world. He had no idea what was happening.
“You can’t just walk out of my life and pretend I didn’t even exist,” she told him.
Sure he could. They were divorced. He was footloose and fancy-free. Wasn’t that the point?
Hands in the pockets of his jeans, he turned again and followed her into the condo they’d purchased together all those years ago.
“So, what’d you want to talk about?” He stood in the living room, defensive as all hell.
“Us.” She was also standing, looking way too good in those designer jeans. Her hands on her hips told him she meant business.
Fine. Business was what he did best. “What about ‘us’?”
