Morgan Cantrell—that was it.
Prior to Cantrell moving in, the real-estate agent had forwarded his information to Leo, who, intrigued by a man who wore a shirt and tie while apartment-hunting, did a little research of his own. The nervous, slightly shy man didn’t fit with the usual type who rented in the building. His marriage at the W in Times Square to some hotshot lawyer had made theNew York Timesand solidified his opinion. Tenants in his building didn’t normally have that kind of bank, and Cantrell intrigued Leo. Something must’ve happened to make him walk away from the square-jawed, grinning husband and all that money, to end up in this not very desirable part of Brooklyn. Alone.
As a clerk restacked the scattered cans, Cantrell continued to apologize and chase after the ones that rolled away.
“I’m so sorry. I took one, and they all came down…”
Flustered and red-faced, Cantrell crouched, his hands full. Since he’d moved in, Leo had passed him a few times in the hallway, but they never spoke. Cantrell had always stepped aside for him and didn’t meet his eyes, almost as if afraid.
Instead of paying for his groceries and leaving the store, Leo found himself walking toward Cantrell. “Are you okay?”
Big eyes met his, and Cantrell rose to his feet and blinked. He handed the cans to the clerk, who finished stacking them. “Yes, I’m fine.”
Leo raised a brow, his gaze traveling to the beans display. “You sure? Doesn’t look like it.”
“I said I’m fine,” Cantrell snapped, then grew wide-eyed and pale. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you.” Without another word, he ran out of the store.
Leo took in Cantrell’s abandoned cart, which contained a package of ground beef, tortilla chips, and an avocado, and decided he couldn’t leave it there.
He added his own purchases and wheeled the cart toward the checkout.
“Friend of yours, Leo?” Ekaterina, the cashier, rang him up.
“No, a new tenant. He moved in a few weeks ago, and I don’t think he’s lived on his own for a while.”
“Well, you’re sweet to buy his groceries. That’ll be $27.46.”
With a faint smile, he swiped his credit card. He wasn’t sweet, unlike Morgan Cantrell, and Leo couldn’t help wondering what his story was.
