He was...
Donna’s words floated back into her brain.“If he can’t tell you he loves you, he doesn’t deserve you.”
“What’s wrong?” Peter asked. “You seem distant this evening. Do you not like the food? I heard nothing but good things about this place. The chef has gotten two Michelins, and he’s only like twenty-two. A food prodigy.”
“No, no, the food’s great. I like what you ordered. Thank you.”
Peter frowned. He was anxious.
Joanna took a big gulp of wine and asked straight out. “Peter, do you love me?”
His head shot back as if he’d been slapped, and Joanna waited. She didn’t want to soften the question by filling the silence.
“Joanna, you know I care about you a lot,” he responded matter-of-factly. “We’ve talked about marriage one day. Having kids. Surely you know how I feel.”
“I’ve been thinking,” she said. “I think I’m ready to take our relationship to the next level.”
Peter relaxed and smiled, openly chewing his food when he said, “Really? You’re ready to move in with me?”
“Yes, but I’m only going to move in with you if I know—”
“Joanna, you’re exactly the kind of woman I’ve always wanted. You’re beautiful. You’re intelligent. Together we’re a power couple. We’re unstoppable. Of course I love you.”
Joanna smiled.
Of course.
“I love you, too, Peter.”
He put his fork and knife down and reached across the table for her hand. His palm felt dry and cold. He squeezed quickly and went back to his meal.
Joanna sipped her wine.
He had said it.
Hadn’the?
Much later,Joanna’s phone vibrated on the nightstand at Peter’s place.
She glanced at the number. 30-2427-555-6795
Well, that’s a lot of numbers.With a foggy brain, she sent the caller to voicemail and went back to sleep.
Whoever it was didn’t need to speak with her in the middle of the night.
Whatever it was could wait.
Chapter Two
The following morning, Peter dropped her back at her place a little before lunch. Saturdays were a busy day in New York real estate, as many clients weren’t free to look at apartments until the weekend.
Joanna dropped her things onto the counter, kicked her heels off, and started up some coffee. Her place was small even by New York standards, but the one thing it had going for it was a balcony that overlooked the Hudson River.
She slid the door open and welcomed in the cool, constant breeze off the bay. She was about to sit down when Donna called.
“Spill,” her friend demanded. “How’d it go? Did the bastard say it?”
“He said it,” Joanna replied, smiling. “And he’s a not a bastard. Be nice.”
