Rick’s mouth twitched. “Good.”
Allen took a bite and glanced up and caught Rick watching him. Allen swallowed. “What?”
Rick shook his head. “Nothing.”
Allen narrowed his eyes. “You’re looking at me.”
Rick’s gaze stayed steady. “Yeah.”
Allen’s pulse kicked again. He set the fork down because his hands weren’t steady now. “This is stupid,” Allen said quietly.
Rick’s eyes didn’t leave his. “Is it?”
Allen swallowed. “I don’t know you.”
Rick nodded once. “No.”
Allen’s throat tightened. “And you don’t know me.”
Rick’s mouth twitched again. “Not yet.”
Allen stared at him. Not yet. Allen looked down at his phone, partly to break the moment and partly to get himself under control. When he looked back up, Rick was still there. Still watching him as if he’d decided something.
Allen took a slow breath and made himself say it. “Do you want my number?”
Rick didn’t hesitate. “Yeah.”
Allen’s heart kicked so hard he gasped softly. Picking up his phone, he unlocked it and slid it across the table. Rick took it, typed quickly, then slid it back. Allen looked down and saw that a new contact had been added. His mouth went dry again, and he blinked before picking his phone up and sending a message that only said hi.
Rick’s voice cut in. “If you don’t want me to use it, say now.”
Allen blinked and looked up. “I want you to.”
Rick’s gaze held his, then he nodded. Allen picked up his fork again and took another bite of cake because he didn’t know what else to do and he didn’t know how to react. This never happened to him.
Rick watched him for a second, then looked away, but the strange chemistry building between them didn’t disappear and Allen didn’t know what to do about it, or even if he should do something about it.
But as he sat there across from Rick in a busy café, eating cake he hadn’t ordered, with Rick’s number now in his phone, Allen felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time. Hope.
Chapter Five
Rick hadn’t planned to speak to anyone. He’d gone to the café because he didn’t want to be in his apartment. He’d spent the last hour pacing, checking his phone, turning the TV on and off, staring out the window, then walking away again. He told himself he just needed to get out. That he was restless because he hadn’t been sleeping well.
All week, Graham’s face had been everywhere. Not on TV in a way that mattered to the public. Not a breaking headline with a name everyone knew, but enough that Rick saw it every time he turned something on. Enough that he saw it online when he scrolled for distraction, and the same story showed up again.
Music manager found dead in his home. Police investigating suspected burglary.
Rick read the words several times. Burglary. Break-in. Random attack. No arrests. It appeared his plan was working.
They’d called Rick two days after it happened. The officer’s voice had been calm and polite. “Mr. Marcus? We’reinvestigating the death of Graham Barclay. We understand you saw him the night he died.”
Rick had kept his voice steady and agreed to come in. He’d sat across from them in a small room with plain walls and a table and chairs. He’d noticed the notepad in front of the detective, the way she didn’t rush, and the way she watched his face as he answered.
Rick gave them what he’d rehearsed. They’d had dinner and a tense conversation, but when he’d left Graham had been fine.
They’d asked what time he arrived. Rick answered without hesitation.
They’d asked what time he left. Rick gave them a time and stuck to it.
