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“A rescue greyhound. A black retired racer I call Blue.”
“How subversive of you,” I joked.
“I try to be subversive.” He glanced at me with a quick smile. “I call him Blue because he mopes around. His racing name was Bluebeard, but it doesn’t fit him. Do you have any pets?”
“No. I’ve been moving around too much.”
“The traveling virtuosa.”
“I’m trying to be more settled,” I said, which was the truth. “Now that I have a place, maybe I’ll get a low maintenance pet, like a fish or a cactus.”
“Hmm. Know your limits.”
He was still smiling. I drank it in, enjoying my last moments of Milo, knowing we were almost to my street. We stopped at a light and he pointed to a tall building with a clock tower. “That’s where I live.”
“The Bridgeport? Wow.”
His finger tapped for a moment on the gearshift. “It’s a nice building.”
“The Michelin’s just a few blocks farther, on 63rd.”
“I know.”
Argh. Give it up, Alice. He’s not that into you.
“It’s been so great to see you again,” I said, preparing myself to say goodbye. “And to listen to beautiful violins.” The Prokofiev mixed with the heightening patter of rain outside.
“It’s always great to talk to someone who appreciates beautiful violins,” he replied. The light turned green. I stared at his knee, and his hand on the gearshift. His strong, masculine fingers made me think of sex. Damn. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye.
“Is it true you have a Stradivarius?” I asked.
“Yes.”
I squeezed my hands into fists. “Can I see it? If it’s not too late? I mean, you already drove me all this way, but now that we’re here, I’d love to see it, because I’ve never seen one.” That was a lie. He probably knew it was a lie. My hands were sweating and my legs trembled against the seat.
He looked surprised, maybe wary of my request. A moment later, he flicked on his turn signal. “Okay. Sure.”
*
Milo’s apartment wasa huge, high-ceilinged altar of masculinity done up in taupe drapes, dark wood fixtures, and deep brown leather couches. My Scandinavian side approved of the lack of clutter, but our apartments had always been lighter and brighter as I was growing up. This wasn’t an IKEA apartment. It was a Roman stronghold, all the way.
We took off our shoes by the door, then Milo turned on the lights and walked to the kitchen. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“Maybe. Yes.”Get me drunk. Take me to bed.I didn’t know what to ask for, but it didn’t matter, because he reappeared a minute later with a small glass of burgundy wine. Dessert wine? So Italian. I took a sip and gave a soft moan of delight at the sweet, rich flavor. “You’re not drinking?” I asked.
“I don’t drink and handle the Strad.” His dark eyes flicked toward the hallway, then away. “Maybe later.”
I heard the click of nails on wood, and a large black greyhound loped into the living room. I put my glass on a side table and moved toward it. “I guess this is Blue?”
Milo lifted a brow. “Yeah. I’m amazed he made an appearance. He’s pretty shy.”
“He’s so handsome.” I backed away from the dog so I wouldn’t scare him, and sat on the couch. Blue studied me with dark, liquid eyes, pointing his long nose at the floor, then turning toward his owner.
“It’s okay.” Milo gave his dog’s ears a thorough scrub as he spoke to him. “This is my old friend Alice. She’s nice.”
“What a sweet boy. Can I pet him?”
“Sure, if he’ll let you.”
