Kavan watches Nigel carefully. I can tell that he had no idea that his right-hand man was a birdwatcher.
Nigel reaches to squeeze my hand. “How did you know it was related to birds, Juliet? I haven’t mentioned it to you.”
I tilt my chin to the right. “The day we met you were wearing a peacock pin on your lapel. Today, it’s a robin.”
His gaze drops to the pin, as does Kavan’s.
Nigel pats his hand over the pin. “They belonged to my wife. When she died, I promised her I’d keep bird watching for the both of us. It helps me feel as though she’s still with me.”
I reach forward to straighten the pin for him. “I think that bird watching is definitely your forte.”
With tears welling in his eyes, he nods. “I’d agree.”
I look toward Kavan to find his gaze locked on the robin pin.
He’s been living in a hell of his own making for so long that he didn’t see that the man who views him as a son was trying to create his own slice of heaven on earth.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Juliet
I asked Drew to drop me off three blocks from my apartment, so I could walk off at least a few of the calories I consumed at lunch.
As an extra special treat just for me, Nara added a small bowl of honey ice cream next to my fruit tart.
Once lunch was over and Kavan went back into his office to take care of more calls, I hugged the chef.
She was taken aback, but she returned the hug and thanked me for thanking her.
Kavan Bane may be hot-as-fuck, but he’s also apparently rude-as-hell.
It doesn’t hurt to thank people who help you, whether you’re paying them or not.
I spot my destination a half of a block ahead.
I’m going to stop in the bookstore and have a quick peek at the new memoirs released today.
It’s fuel for my next guessing game with Sinclair.
She’ll get a kick out of it, and I’ll get to spend more time with her.
I wave to the woman who runs a small bistro that I often stop at for brunch with Margot. She’s outside, writing something on the sign that faces the sidewalk traffic.
I stop to take a read.
“A jellied, plum torte?” I sigh. “Yes, please.”
“You want one?” she questions with a grin.
“Margot will love it.”
“I can attest to that,” she says as she leads me into the bistro. “Your sister stopped by for a taste test last week.”
Curiosity piqued, I tap her shoulder. “With or without a man?”
She laughs. “Without. I have a son around her age. He’s smart, successful, and handsome. That checks all Margot’s boxes, right?”
I watch as she slides a decadent looking torte from the display case. “It does but Margot will tell you that she’s too busy with work for love.”
Carrying the torte across the bistro toward a stack of pink boxes, she shakes her head. “No one is too busy for love.”
I won’t argue with her.
I glance around at all the offerings. “What can I take home for Margot for dinner? Something light.”
“The broccoli quiche will put a smile on her face.” She starts toward another display case. “I’ll pack all of this up for you, Juliet. Your sister will be pleased as punch once she gets home from work.”
If she gets home from work before I go to bed.
Margot puts in long hours, but it’s her joy, so I’ve never tried to get her to change.
“Juliet!” The dulcet tones of a man’s voice pull at me from the left.
I dart my gaze over the crowded sidewalk trying to find a recognizable face that I can attach to that voice.
I come up empty.
“Over here, Juliet.”
This time I spot the owner of the voice immediately. It’s Slate.
That makes sense, given that I’m just feet away from the door to his store.
He’s standing in the doorway, with a muscular arm raised in the air in greeting.
I’m not the only woman who has turned to look.
I make my way toward him, holding tightly to the strings of the stacked boxes I got from the bistro in one hand. My laptop bag’s handle is firmly within the grasp of my other hand.
“Hey, Slate,” I say as soon as I’m close enough that I know he’ll hear me.
“Are you coming in?” he asks, adjusting the frame of his glasses.
My gaze drops to the gray T-shirt he’s wearing. It bears the name of a college hockey team. I’ve never asked how old he is, but if pressed to guess, I think he must be my age or a year or two older.
“My alma mater,” he says as he tugs on the front of his shirt.
That sends the bottom hem up a few inches to reveal a toned stomach complete with a trail of dark hair.
I tear my gaze away from that and focus on his face. “I thought I could spend a few minutes browsing the memoir section.”
He nods. “Are you looking for anything in particular?”
I decide to take a shortcut that I haven’t before. “Anything published by Morgan Press.”
The corners of his lips quirk. “I’ve got a few of those on hand.”
Stepping into the shop, I smile. “Great. Point me in that direction.”
“Why don’t I guard those bistro goodies, so you have a free hand?” He reaches out to me. “It looks like you’re all set for dinner tonight.”
I nod.
Taking the boxes from me, he glances in my direction. “What about tomorrow night? Do you have dinner plans?”
This is unexpected but not unwelcome.
I haven’t been on a date in weeks, and he’s cute. He’s friendly too.
“I don’t,” I answer quietly.
“Have dinner with me,” he pauses, “I mean do you want to have dinner with me?”
Margot once told me not to seem too eager, so I take a second before answering.
That’s apparently too long for Slate because he clears his throat. “I’m not suggesting anything fancy. Let’s do informal. Jeans, burgers, maybe a beer.”
The jeans and burgers work for me, but I can’t stomach the taste of beer. “I’d like that a lot.”
“Great.” He grins. “I close up at eight. I can walk over to your building to pick you up, or…”
“I’ll walk over here,” I suggest.
“It’s a date.” He looks into my eyes. “I’m looking forward to this, Juliet.”
“I am too,” I say honestly.
I deserve to have some fun, especially since I’ll be spending at least part of my day with moody Mr. Bane.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Kavan
“Is there anything else you need before I leave, Mr. Bane?”
I turn to see Nigel standing in the doorway of my office. It’s nearing seven. I had a busy afternoon of meetings via phone. Nigel sat in for some, and during others, he tended to work I had assigned him.
I beckon him into my office with a curl of my fingers. “Come and sit.”
He doesn’t hesitate.
Nigel never hesitates when I ask anything of him, even when it is unthinkable, as it was the night my father died.