“Beats me.”
“Aren’t you curious?”
“Sure.”
“Aren’t you going to satisfy your curiosity?”
“I’m going to have lunch. I’m famished.”
“You’re hopeless, is what you are,” Beth declared. Lauren merely shrugged as she headed for the back room.
“Hopeless” wasn’t exactly the word for it. She was flattered. Matt couldn’t have chosen that bench by chance. But she was also puzzled. If he wanted to see her, wouldn’t he simply come into the shop?
Did she want to see him? She still wasn’t sure. There was something intimidating about him, and she couldn’t quite pinpoint its cause.
Unwrapping her sandwich, she ate it slowly, sipping occasionally from a can of Coke. By the time she was finished, her curiosity had risen right along with her energy level. Shedidwant to know what Matthew Kruger was up to. What right did he have to monopolize that bench? What right did he have to distract her? What right did he have to make her feelguiltyfor not acknowledging his presence?
Without further thought, she crossed through the shop, breezed out the door and approached the bench. Matt didn’t look up. She stood there for a minute, then quietly eased herself down on the bench several feet away from him, far enough to preclude any implication of intimacy.
While he continued to read, she studied him closely. Other than his eyes, which moved rhythmically from one line to the next, his features were at rest. His lean cheeks were freshly shaved. His tawny hair was clean and vaguely windblown, haphazardly brushing his forehead and collar. He wore his usual jeans and sneakers, but today he’d put on a pink oxford cloth shirt. If she’d ever thought pink was feminine, she quickly revised that opinion. With his sleeves rolled to just beneath the elbow, and with the bronzed hue of his forearms, neck and chin contrasting handsomely with the shirt, he looked thoroughly male. Almost rawly so.
Reaching out, Lauren removed the book from his hands. She caught a brief glimpse of his startled expression before she turned the book over, carefully holding his place with her fingers, and examined the cover.
“A Savage Place,” she read aloud. “It’s a good one. But some of Parker’s other books are set more in Boston. His descriptions of the city are priceless. You really should read them.”
“I have,” Matt answered. His liquid brown eyes caught hers when she lifted her head. “I’ve been a Parker fan for years.”
Any indignance Lauren might have felt when she’d marched out of the shop had vanished. For that matter, she couldn’t remember what doubts she’d had about Matt yesterday, last night, this morning. She couldn’t seem to think of anything except the fact that his eyes were the warmest she’d ever seen and that his smile did something strange to her insides.
With a determined effort, she refocused on the book. “Like mystery and a little bit of violence, do you? Or is it Spenser’s machismo that intrigues you?” The softness of her tone kept any sting from her words.
“Actually, it’s Parker’s writing style I enjoy. It’s clean and crisp. Fast-paced. Filled with wit and dry humor.”
She nodded. So it hadn’t been an act, Matt’s immersion in the book. He obviously knew his Parker and appreciated him.
“Why this bench?” Lauren asked suddenly. Her eyes had narrowed and were teasing in their way.
Matt stared at her, opened his mouth, then promptly shut it again. As she watched, his expression grew sheepish, filled with a boyish guilt that tugged at her heart-strings. When he finally did explain, she knew she was lost.
“I like this bench because it’s close to your shop. I guess I was hoping you’d come out. What I wasreallyhoping was that you’d take off with me for the afternoon and we’d rent a sailboat and join the others on the Charles. I got a view of the Basin from the thirty-second floor this morning. It looked so inviting.” His voice fell, along with the expression on his face. “But you have to work. I know. It’s not fair for me to come along and expect you to drop everything you’re doing. You have responsibilities. I accept that, and respect it.”
Lauren didn’t know whether to hug him in consolation or hit him over the head with his book. “How can youdothis to me, Matt? It’s not fair!” That he should be a lovable little boy in a virile man’s body. That he should be a stranger, yet so very familiar. That he should offer excitement in such a gentle and undemanding way. None of it was fair.
“Then you’ll come sailing with me?”
“You were right the first time. I can’t.”
“But you would if you could.”
“Yes.”
He smiled and relaxed against the bench. “I guess I can live with that.” Almost as soon as he’d sat back, he came forward again. “How about tonight? There’s a Boston Pops concert on the Esplanade. We could pick up something to take out and eat while we listen.”
Lauren knew that an hour later, or two or three, she’d find all kinds of reasons why she shouldn’t go. At the moment, however, she couldn’t think of a one. “That’d be fun. I’d like it.”
“Great! What time can you get off?”
“What time does the concert start?”
