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Walking past, I point to the living area. “That couch by the window is great for thinking.” I wave to the other two. “They’re good too, but not nearly as much as that one.”
“That so?”
“Try it out. See for yourself.”
When she settles into the corner of my favorite spot, arms folded over the padded arm, legs tucked up at an angle beside her, I swallow hard. I’ve thought about her a hundred times from that spot. Wondered how she was, where she was. If she ever thought about me.
Hell.
I sit on the couch to her right and point to her phone. “May I?”
She hands it over, and I add my contact information and text myself before handing it back.
Wait for it… And there it is. That laugh.
“Mr. Stormy Hendricks, huh?”
“While the shoe fits.”
* * *
Stormy
I’ve wonderedabout this man for a year, imagining him into one far-flung setting after another. A houseboat in the south. Chopping wood outside a cabin in the mountains. Owning Wall Street. Herding cattle. Capable and commanding in any environment.
As crazy as it seems, his existence alone was a comfort. No matter how out of reach he was.
But all this time, he’s been in Chicago.Just like he said.
I remember thinking how he’d have laughed knowing I actually lived by the city he chose as his pretend home. But this apartment is real, and it’s gorgeous.
I turn in my seat, taking it in. The main space is open plan with a single exposed brick wall and high ceilings.
The couches we’re sitting on are huge with creamy leather and matching oversized ottomans that frame in a living area surrounding an oblong glass-topped coffee table. There are a few shelves built into a wall of high-gloss cabinets and each contains a single small decorative piece of artwork.
A marble-topped island divides the space with barstools on the living side and a collection of high-end stainless on the kitchen side. There’s a dining area with a hallway beyond I’m guessing leads to a more private part of the apartment, and in the far corner, a single club chair with an end table beside it and nothing on top.
It’s minimalist and immaculate.
“What’s that look about?” he asks, forearms resting on his widespread knees. His biceps straining his shirt.
Don’t stare.“Just wondering if the neat freak who lives here broke out in hives in my apartment.” I’m better than Misty, but both of us love stuff.
Liam looks around and shrugs. “I liked your place. It had a hell of a lot more character than this.”
Character is one way to put it. “It has a Chia Pet. And I’d be willing to trade him for even one of these windows.” They’re floor to ceiling and with the heavily falling snow, the view is amazing. But that’s not why we’re here.
Time to bite the bullet.
“So, you want out, a divorce?” I ask, knowing the answer already. Of course, he does.
“Don’t you?” he asks, and my focus lifts to his eyes. Deep and brown. Serious. Curious.
Since all our lies seem to be behind us, I give him the truth.
“No.”
4
