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At that, I turned to him, feeling . . .calm. Very odd.
The man approaching was in a linen suit, his tie a baby blue that matched his eyes. His coppery hair flopped across his forehead haphazardly.
“Fine,” the officer barked.
I flinched. “He’s giving me a ticket because I’m seven minutes late leaving,” I said softly, keeping my eyes locked on the kind ones of the Good Samaritan.
“Surely, Officer”—the man read the policeman’s name tag—“Officer Wilson, a warning will suffice. The lady meant no harm, did you?”
“No.”
Officer Wilson’s gaze was hard as he appraised my rescuer. “This doesn’t concern you, sir.”
“The lady . . .” He paused, prompting me with a polite smile for my name.
“Trish.”
“Trish appears uncomfortable. Frightened, even. I’m not trying to interfere, but I can’t leave a scared woman on her own.”
The officer blinked at me a few times as if realizing the other man was correct in his assessment. I tried to straighten my shoulders, but they remained rounded in defeat. Officer Wilson turned his head to the side and let out a soft curse.
“Don’t park here past six fifteen.” He pressed the papers in my hand and stalked off.
I sagged against the side of the truck. A comforting hand rested on my shoulder, though I stiffened at the contact. The man dropped it, concern etched on his face.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.” The word came out scratchy. I cleared my throat. “Thank you.”
The man’s smile broadened, revealing perfectly white teeth. “It was nothing. Glad you didn’t get a ticket.”
“That’s the last thing I could afford right now.” I regretted my candor the second it was out of my mouth.
His smile faltered for a fraction of a second before he extended his hand. “Andrew Dixon.”
“Nice to meet you,” I said, shaking his hand. “Do you go around rescuing people from citations?”
“Sometimes,” he said mischievously.
I tilted my head to the side. Something about Andrew made me feel comfortable. But the last person who had was Huxley, and that didn’t end well.
“I should go.” I pointed my thumb over my shoulder. “Probably wouldn’t be a good thing to still be here if Officer Wilson comes back by.”
“Probably not.”
“Thanks again.”
“Any time.”
Neither of us moved for a moment. I should go, but I didn’t reallywantto. A settled feeling blanketed us, yet there was a buzz between us that was energizing.
Coming to my senses, I gave him a shy smile before climbing in the truck and cranking the engine. I pulled away from the curb and glanced in the rearview mirror.
Andrew Dixon was rooted in the spot, hands in his pockets, staring after me.
I forced my eyes on the street ahead. What a weird day. Everything about it had been normal until the past ten minutes. How could three men elicit such different responses from me?You’re a work in progress, Trish. You found your calm. You did good.
Well, at least I could be thankful of one thing: This was New York City. I’d never see any of those men again.
