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His mouth quirked. “For now. There’s no tellin’ what will happen later.”
“Do you often have spontaneous murder-fights?”
His head cocked, and he looked at me like a puzzle. “You know it’s not really called that, right?”
“Yeah, I do.” I giggled, but it sounded more like a gurgle. “Well, I’m heading home. I have groceries that need to be put away.”
“Okay.” He nodded like he’d come to a decision. “I’ll walk with you.”
“Oh. Okay. All right.” My brow pinched as I really took him in. “Where’s your coat?”
He tugged on the strings of his hoodie. “This is all I need.”
“That isn’t true. It’s twenty degrees. You need something more than a sweatshirt.”
His nostrils flared as he exhaled heavily. “You’re worried about me?”
“I would worry about anyone who wasn’t wearing a coat in this weather.”
One corner of his mouth tugged up. “So, I’m not special?”
“Of course you’re special.” I pushed my cart forward and tucked my chin into my scarf. “Your fans would be devastated if you were taken out by a perfectly preventable case of pneumonia.”
I had no idea what I was saying anymore. This man flustered me, and I didn’t understand why he was walking down the cracked, uneven sidewalk by my side. He had to have somewhere better to be. If not murder-fighting, then signing autographs and trashing hotel rooms as rock stars were wont to do.
“Would you be devastated?” he asked.
“If you died from pneumonia?” He nodded. “I...I guess? Can we change the subject, please?”
“Sure.” He tucked his hands in his hoodie pocket and walked in silence. His long legs were easily twice the length of mine, but he kept my pace, staying right beside me. His arm brushed mine every other step, which had to be purposeful. If he wanted away from me, he could go. Instead, he was actively coming closer.
“Why are you here?”
He cocked his head. “Here?”
“In Queens. Why are you in Queens? There have to be hipster Krav Maga places in Manhattan.”
“There probably are.” He rubbed his jaw and stared straight ahead. “But I live close by, so I don’t know why I would go to Manhattan.”
I stopped walking, and he noticed immediately, pulling to a stop and facing me. “Is there something wrong?” he asked.
“You live close by?” He lived close by? Callum Rose, my first love and teenage obsession, lived in the same borough? “Why?”
He gave me that puzzled look again. “Why what?”
“Why do you live here?”
“Why doyoulive here?” he countered.
“Um...well, my great-aunt Jenny has a house a few blocks over and I live with her, so...that’s why I live here.”
His eyes were so pretty. It hurt me down to my guts to keep looking at them, but the idea of turning away churned my stomach even worse. They were so blue, they glowed. Like northern lights or something. They shouldn’t have been real, not on this street corner, in this city, on this planet. Getting to know Callum from far away all those years ago had muted him. I had known he was beautiful, but up close, he took my breath away.
His head dipped, and he reached down to open one of my grocery bags. “You should get home. Your popsicles will melt.”
“That isn’t an answer, you know.”
“Mmm.” He rubbed the golden stubble on his chin. “It’s true, though.”
