“What?”
“I have a deposition coming up and two clients breathing down my neck,” she groans.“If this is actuallythe Alec, as you claim.I need photographic proof.Immediate.Show me those arms and tattoos.”
“We live in Seattle,” I remind her.“He’s always wearing sleeves.”
“Good job avoiding the assignment.”
“You’re insufferable.”
“Photographic.Proof.”
I rub my forehead.“I need to tend to my child and—damn it.”
“What happened?”
“I have to go to the lawyer’s office today to sign paperwork, and I can’t take Mila with me.”
Ari exhales dramatically.“Have you considered this exotic concept called ‘school?’”
“Not until the next school year,” I remind her.“I need a babysitter or ...I could ask Alec to come with me and wait with her in the lobby.”
“The imaginary drummer?”she deadpans.
“Exactly that one.”
There’s a pause.“Mara.”
“What?”
“Please tell me you’re not about to ask a man you barely know—a man who might be a retired rock legend—to babysit your daughter in a lawyer’s office.”
“I wouldn’t use the word babysit,” I mutter.“More like ...supervised coexisting.”
“Mara.”
“It’s fine,” I say.“He’s survived Mila’s interrogation a few times.He can do it again.”
“You’re going to ruin my sanity,” she says.“And maybe your own.”
“Already ruined,” I reply, glancing toward the balcony where he’d earlier today, staring at me as if he didn’t know whether to run or stay.
Maybe I feel the same.
Maybe it’s worse now that I know who he is—that he’s famous.And I’m ...me.A single mother trying to stay afloat.Maybe that’s why this neighbor-friendship thing feels oddly safe.We’re from two completely different worlds, and worlds like that don’t collide.
I tell Mila we need to be at the lawyer’s office by nine, then walk the hallway, already rehearsing the polite request I’m about to make to Alec.I barely make it a few steps before someone steps out of the elevator—tall, impeccably dressed, and wearing a smile that knows more than it should.
I almost crash into him.
He steadies me and his gaze sweeps over me with an amused familiarity, like he was expecting me to be exactly here, exactly now.
“Mara Cavanagh-O’Shea,” he says, smiling like he’s greeting someone he’s known for years.“It’s nice to meet you.”
I blink.“Who are you?”
Before he can answer, Alec’s voice comes from inside, flat as ever: “Edgar, don’t be ...you.”
Edgar—apparently—glances at Alec, then at me, then back at Alec with way too much interest.“Ah.I see why you’re so ...concerned.”
