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“Hi,” he said with a gentle smile.
“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”
In the pause that followed, she had the strangest feeling he wanted to hug her. Which was fine. She wanted to hug him, too. This all felt like a reunion of two people who had been separated by vast time and distance.
Instead of a mere twenty-two hours and however many Caldwell miles.
“Did you sleep at all?” he asked.
“No.” For someone who didn’t talk a lot about herself, he was amazingly easy to be honest with. “And not just because of the soreness.”
“Racing thoughts?”
“All night long.” No reason to mention it had been because she’d been consumed with memories of him. This wasn’t a deposition—
“Deposition?” he asked.
Oh, crap. She’d said that out loud. “Um… I had dreams I was in court. When I finally fell asleep.”
“That’s too bad. And you weren’t even the one behind the wheel.” He shrugged. “Still, a brush with death will make your mind do crazy things.”
Focusing on his clothes for the first time, she had a thought that he looked like a soldier, just without any U.S. military insignia on his heavy leather jacket. Those were definitely combat boots on his feet, however… and she had to wonder what the bulges under his arms were and what was inside all the pockets of his black pants.
“It’s okay, Anne,” he said quietly. “I’m not here to hurt you.”
“I know you aren’t.” How she was so sure of that, she… well, she wasn’t clear on that part. But down to her soul, she was certain he would do her no harm. “You’d never hurt me.”
“Never.”
After a silence that seemed to vibrate, she said something about soup or food again and he said something like “That’ll be fine” or “That’ll be great.” And then she was over at her refrigerator listing its meager contents like she was declaring them at customs after a European vacation.
Why couldn’t she have gone shopping after work? Or anytime this friggin’ week?
This was a man who needed more than hot liquid tomatoes for dinner.
“I’m really fine.” He sat down across from her place setting. “I’m grateful for whatever.”
Anne closed the fridge’s door and wondered what kind of cologne he was wearing. It was positively… delicious—what was she doing? Oh, right.
“Wonder Bread and butter as a side it is,” she said.
Anne gave him the other half of what was in the pan, started some more toast just like her own, and brought his bowl over. He didn’t start eating, or even lift the spoon she gave him, until she sat down and resumed her own Campbell’s thing, and she couldn’t help but notice that he had perfect table manners.
While they ate, the silence between them was almost tender. And weaving in and around the quiet were currents she didn’t want to look too closely at.
At least for her there were currents—
Pop! went the toaster.
Anne was the only one who jolted at the sound. And as she got up, she blurted, “I think my ex would have killed me last night.”
As the man’s eyes narrowed, she couldn’t believe what had come out of her mouth. Then again, she’d been so desperate not to think of things like the size of his shoulders… or whether he was looking at her… or how his mouth seemed very…
Yes, all of those things had to be kept good and hidden. And God knew there was no better brick wall than Bruce.
“Tell me what happened,” her mystery man prompted as she put his toast on a plate and buttered it. “I know I’m a stranger, but sometimes it’s good to just say things out loud. I know I wish I had someone to talk to a lot of the time.”
How was this big, beautiful man lonely, she wondered as she brought over the carbs.
“You don’t have a—” As she put things in front of him, she fumbled over the word “wife.” “You live alone?”
“I live with an old friend.”
She sat back down. “Oh.”
“He’s taken care of me and whatever house I’ve lived in forever.”
“Oh?” she said with a shot of relief.
“Tell me about your ex.”
Ducking her eyes, she stirred the cooling, congealing tomato soup around her bowl… and tried not to think about how in the right light, it looked like blood.
“I, ah, I met Bruce about ten months ago. I do payroll processing at a law office. My job’s about as exotic as this toast.” She took a bite of her second piece of toast. “He came in to apply for a position as a paralegal and he got lost. It’s a big place, you know, our offices downtown. Four floors, seventy lawyers, support staff of over a hundred.”
She paused as she remembered that first meeting, Bruce in his dark blue suit, his hair all combed back, a briefcase in his hand. His tie had been so straight, the press in his slacks so starched, his shoes buffed to a high polish. He’d seemed focused and directed. Determined and intelligent.
