Half a block later, David appeared next to me. “I never got to tell you how much I enjoyed the issue,” he said.
My head shot up, but I continued my stride. “What?”
“The ‘Most Eligible’ issue,” David said. “The feature had a fresh, creative touch. You deserve that promotion.”
“Oh.” I slowed fractionally to sync with his relaxed gait. “Thanks.”
He handed me the ice cream sandwich. “Here.”
“Did you steal this?” I asked with widened eyes.
He laughed loudly. “No, of course not. I bought it for you.”
After a slight hesitation, I accepted it and started to peel away the wrapper.
“What did you think of my part?” he asked.
“Hmm?” I asked as I sank my teeth into a satisfying combination of slightly melted vanilla ice cream and firm cookie crust.
“The article,” he said. “What did you think of my spread?”
Perfection. I swallowed and feigned interest in the sidewalk. “Oh. Your pictures caused quite the commotion.”
“What didyouthink, though?”
“I thought . . .” I paused, exhaling loudly. “I thought you looked very handsome. Lisa did a nice job with the photo shoot.”
“And the interview?” he asked.
I squinted ahead and took another bite of the softening ice cream. A young guy dropped his skateboard on the ground and zoomed by us. “I didn’t read it.”
“Why not?”
We stopped at a corner and waited for the light to change. I glanced up at him as vanilla dripped down my fingers. I tried to convey with my eyes what I couldn’t with my words. That I hadn’t read it because it would be too painful. That since the day I’d left him, I could never forget the hurt in his eyes. Even in my heels, my head was almost vertical when I said, “I’m sorry.”
He sighed and nodded his head toward the green light. “This might be one of our last warm weeks,” he commented once we were walking again.
I wanted to laugh. The things left unsaid were almost palpable between us. But it was better that way, so instead, we’d talk about the weather. “That’s fine by me,” I said. “I love Chicago in autumn.”
“Me too,” he said with a smile. “What’s your favorite thing about it?”
“Probably the way there’s something electric in the air just as it starts to cool down. Also, that I get to wear boots again.”
He laughed and rolled his eyes toward the sky. “Typical. My sister also judges the seasons by her wardrobe.”
I smiled. “What about you?”
“I take my nephew to pick apples a couple hours away.”
I nodded, picturing David’s sister, Jessa, based on what I knew from the research I’d done for his feature.
“That’s my favorite thing,” he continued. “That, and the weekend mornings when you wake up and your bed is so warm and you have nowhere to be . . .”
My face fell as the fantasy of waking up in his arms flashed through my mind, my body pressed against his hot, hard one on a cold fall morning.
So much for a safe topic.
When I glanced up, he wore a roguish smile, as if reading my mind. “And who doesn’t love the foliage?” he added.
