“Uh…” She glances past me down the hallway, the simple act divulging all I need to know. No blank face, no surprised, ‘Who?’
Vicky’s been here, but she’s not here right now.And judging from the glance and the consternation, she’s due back shortly.
Perfect.
“Do you mind if I come in and wait?” The door’s open far enough that she’s too slow to close it in my face, and once my foot’s over the threshold, she knows it’s too late to try.
“Why not,” she says sarcastically, stepping back in resignation.
This is definitely the right place. Vicky and a woman like this would be perfect friends. With that in mind, I’ll receive no support from her. But as always, I can’t resist a challenge.
I give her an easy smile, leaning into feigned self-deprecation. “Thank you so much for taking her in. You don’t know what that means to me.”
She pauses in the act of closing the door, regarding me in puzzlement that’s swiftly replaced with suspicion. “I’ll be candid. I don’t think your ex wants to see you. You should leave.”
She’s not my ex.
I ignore her, walking farther into the apartment. There’s a delay before she closes the front door, then her footsteps follow me.
“Nice place.”
She doesn’t bother to reply to that platitude, but walks into the open-plan kitchen-living space and leans against the counter, arms crossed, staring at me like I brought in a bad smell.
Tough crowd.
I take my overcoat off, trying not to shake toomuch water onto the floor, and drape it over my arm.
She wavers, then scowls as her manners force a reaction. “Can I take your coat?”
“Oh, thank you. That’s kind.” I give her another smile, but keep it understated. Little by little. “I’m Alexander Reyes, by the way,” I say as she hangs it up. “Didn’t we meet? A few months ago?”
“Carol Jenkins,” she mutters. “September. At the wine bar.”
I click my fingers. “Right. Nice to meet you, Carol. And you went with Vicky when I bought her that resort and spa trip, if I’m not mistaken?” A subtle reminder that she owes me, however much it is by proxy.
It works. Her demeanor becomes ever so slightly less hostile, a begrudging gratitude filling the gap. “It was lovely, yes.”
“I’m so glad.”
Carol sniffs. “She’s not here—if that’s not obvious.”
“Thank you for letting me wait.” I watch her with a mild air of expectation.
She barely avoids an eyeroll. “Do you want a coffee?”
“That would be wonderful. Black, please. No sugar.” I give Carol a few moments of kettle-oriented familiarity before I try again. “How is Vicky? Is she… doing all right?” I’m the very image of the concerned, remorseful, so-not-ex-fiancé making a delicate inquiry after a little lovers’ tiff, a bump in the road.
“She’s doing just fine,” Carol replies tersely, keento remind me that I’m not needed in her life.
“Is she still at work?” I know she isn’t; she works from home. Whenever she does work, which isn’t often.
“She’s out for a run.”
I blink at that. “Really?”
Carol’s look of disdain could wilt fresh flowers. “She does run, Mr. Reyes.”
“I mean it’s sleeting outside. It’s almost dark. And this…” I hiss in a breath, and it’s not even feigned. “…is Brooklyn. Not Westchester.” I take a few paces toward the door, seriously considering if I shouldn’t go and look for her.
