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My gaze drifts over her face, taking in the shape of her eyes and the curve of her chin. “That dress looked beautiful on you.”
Her full lips part. “Oh.”
I try to backtrack because I heard how that sounded. “It’s a lovely dress. It was a waste not to clean it.”
She shifts her gaze to the photograph, so I follow her lead.
“Sean used to push me on the swings on this playground.” Her index finger touches the glass protecting the photograph. “I couldn’t have been more than seven or eight at the time, but I have such vivid memories of it.”
Emotion taints the words. I hear the way her voice cracks slightly.
“It’s a good memory, right?” I ask.
She glances at me. “One of the best. The playground looks beautiful with the little white lights hanging from the tree by the swing set.”
I set my gaze back on the black and white photograph. “It does.”
She shakes her head as if she’s chasing away a thought. “I washed and dried Joslyn’s clothes. I guess we can do an exchange since you have my dress.”
I nod. “Name the place and time.”
“Anywhere and anytime works for me.”
I chuckle. “Why don’t you give me your number, and we’ll set something up?”
“You want my number?” she asks suspiciously. “We can decide on a time and place right now, Harry.”
“We could, but my schedule is packed this week.” I tug my phone out of my pocket. “Put your number in my contact list, and I’ll text you to set up a time.”
She glances down the hallway before she holds out her palm. “Okay, fine.”
I watch her fingers move deftly over the screen of my phone. “I’m available most of the week. I have some work to do, but I can always break free of that and drop the clothes off at your house or office, Harry. Whatever works best for you is fine.”
Having her in my home again is dangerous, so the office or a café will need to suffice.
A soft chime from my phone interrupts my thoughts.
Ava’s gaze darts from the phone to my face. “I added my number. You have a new message. It popped up on the screen.”
My phone is shoved at me before I can process what’s happening.
“I need to get back to my family,” Ava whispers before taking off toward the main living area.
Another chime drops my gaze back to my phone’s screen.
I read the message that is waiting for me.
Chelsie: Hey Lover. I can’t wait for tomorrow night. I’ve missed you and your cock. Does 8 PM still work?
“Dammit,” I mutter under my breath.
Chelsie is a friend I fuck when she pops up in New York. She’s a flight attendant who calls Seattle home. I haven’t seen her in months, and this rendezvous we planned for tomorrow night was set in motion two weeks ago.
I thumb out a reply because whatever interest I had in taking the redhead to bed has suddenly evaporated into thin air.
Harrison: Change of plans. I can’t make it this time around.
Her reply is almost instant.
Chelsie: Your loss. I’ll catch you the next time I’m in the city.
I don’t bother with a reply. Instead, I clear the messages and shove my phone back in my pocket.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Ava
Awkward doesn’t even begin to describe what I felt when that text message popped up on Harry’s phone last night.
Whoever Chelsie is, she’s in for what seems like a hell of a good time tonight with Harrison Keene’s cock.
“Ava!”
My head snaps up to see Declan standing in front of me, dressed in his regular work attire. Today it’s a dark gray suit with a blue shirt and a silver tie.
Since this is moving day for me, I opted for comfort.
I’m wearing another new pair of underwear since I loaded up on silk and lace pieces at the Liore Lingerie boutique on Fifth Avenue the morning after I landed in New York.
I slid on jeans this morning and paired them with a blue blouse that Callie gave me as I left their apartment last night.
She heard about my limited wardrobe choices from Declan, so she gathered a few things and put them in a shopping bag.
I thanked her even though my luggage is set to arrive at Declan’s door within the next ten minutes.
“How are you this morning?” My brother asks as he stalks toward where I’m standing in his kitchen.
“Better if I could figure out this spaceship coffee maker.” I jerk a thumb toward the expensive silver machine on the granite countertop.
I have a pour-over coffee maker back in my flat in London, so this contraption on my brother’s counter is out of this world complicated for me.
I’ve approached it every morning since I’ve been staying with Declan, but I always back off out of fear and run to the café on the corner to grab a cup of coffee. Today, I thought I’d give the machine one last try, but when I pressed the start button a few minutes ago, it hissed at me, spit out a burst of steam, and stopped.
