“Hi, Henry.” I return his smile, rummaging in my bag for my keys, trying not to create a puddle in the foyer.
“Dad! This is my friend, Alex.”
A figure steps through the door behind Henry, obscured behind an umbrella, shaking water off onto the doormat. I offer a smile just as the umbrella is lowered, but my brain short-circuits when I see who’s in front of me.
Broad shoulders. Expensive suit. Beard.
Gah, not again!
I grimace, praying he doesn’t recognize me, but when his deep brown eyes collide with mine, his features harden.
“Oh. Hi.”
I should be slinking away but I can’t move, I can’t take my eyes off him. His dark hair is wet and water is dripping down one side of his face, his short beard damp with raindrops. He’s brushing water off his suit jacket impatiently.
Fuck, he’shot. Was he this good-looking the last time I saw him?
I glance between him and Henry, putting the pieces together. So he’s Henry’s dad, and… he lives in the building? I didn’t see that coming, although it explains why I keep seeing him around the Village.
Unease pinches my gut, and I realize I’m intimidated by him. Maybe it’s the business attire, or because he’s older, or the fact that he could demand money from me at any second. Okay, I did ruin his shirt, but it’s not like Iwantedto spill my coffee all over him. He was rushing me, making me flustered. I think back to how impatient he was, how he spoke to the barista like I wasn’t even there. I bet he’s one of those men who has no respect for women, especially if he is a womanizer.
It’s then that I remember what I’m wearing, and I look down at my clothes in horror. My tank top is already low-cut—it has to be, so you don’t see it above the wedding dress—and now the thin white cotton is practically transparent. The black lace of my bra is clear as day, and when I notice my cleavage glistening with rain, I shudder with mortification. Of all the times to run into this guy and I look like I’ve entered a wet T-shirt contest.
“Hi,” I squeak, glancing up again.
“Alex, is it?” He places his umbrella in the stand by the door then turns back, his gaze sweeping over me.
I half nod, half cringe, clutching my jacket to my chest in an attempt to regain some dignity.
He extends a wet hand. “Michael.”
I take it in mine, giving him a meek smile.
“Where are you from, Alex?” Michael asks politely as he waits for Henry to check the mailbox. Every word in that rich, deep American accent slides over my skin like silk and I struggle to find my words.
“She’s from New Zealand, Dad.” Henry turns back to us with a grin. “She moved here because her boyfriend wanted to break up, and—”
“Thanks, Henry,” I say hastily, my face glowing red. I hazard a glance at Michael and there’s a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.
“It was Alex who gave me the pizza last week,” Henry explains, wandering over to the stairs.
Michael stiffens. He turns to me as Henry heads up the steps. “Oh. That was you? You didn’t need to do that.”
I shrug. “He was upset and said he hadn’t eaten, so—”
“Yeah, well, I was on my way with dinner.” He rakes a hand through his wet hair, irritation flickering across his features.
I raise my eyebrows, taken aback. “Okay. Sorry.” I’m not sure what else to say. If anything, I thought I had been kind when Henry was obviously upset and alone, but apparently not. “I didn’t mean to interfere, I was just—”
“It doesn’t matter,” he interrupts, his brows drawing together.
“Dad!” Henry calls from up the stairs.
“Anyway,” Michael grumbles. Then without even saying goodbye, he turns and heads up the steps, his expensive shoes squeaking on the wet floor.
I stand in the foyer, dripping and cold, gaping after him.
What the hell was that? One minute he’s being, well, not exactly friendly but at least polite, then the next he’s looking at me like I’d offered his son crack instead of pizza.
