Heat rushes up my neck. “I’d better leave it to my imagination.”
“Not mine?”
“No,” I say quickly. “Not yours.”
“All right then,” he agrees, sitting back, his mood turning from sultry to conversational. “You only have one sibling?”
“Yes. One. You?”
“It’s just me.”
Just him.
I cut my gaze, with the bite of fear I cannot escape. It cannot be just me now. It can’t be. Gio has to come home.
“Hey,” he says, softly compelling my attention.
My lashes lift and I look at him, swimming in the deep blue sea of his eyes.
“Did I say something wrong?” he asks. The question surprising me, telling me he sees me, really sees me, when I have spent a lifetime trying to be invisible to everyone but Gio. This awareness between us is both thrilling and terrifying. Gio is gone, but Kace is here. And Kace has a unique connection to a world I’ve lost, and that I crave now more than ever. He brings me home, back to my roots. He makes me feel a little less alone. So maybe I should run far away, run from him, but for once in my life, I defy all I’ve been taught, and I don’t. I stay put, right here with Kace.
CHAPTER TEN
“Aria?”
At Kace’s gentle prod, I’m snapped out of my reverie.
“Did I say something wrong?” he presses.
“No. Of course not. You said nothing wrong.” And he didn’t. He said nothing wrong. Gio’s absence is what’s wrong but I can’t talk about that and I don’t. I change the subject quickly. “For some reason,” I say, “I thought you lived in Germany.” It’s out before I can stop it, and without that intent, I’ve just made myself look like a fangirl. “I was reading up on the recent Stradivarius auctions and went down a rabbit hole, which included the great violinists of our time.” The explanation I’ve given him is not a lie. I’ve secretly stayed on top of every auction ever held for a Stradivarius and sampled every one of the great violinists. The truth is that Kace’s playing has lulled me to sleep more than just last night.
If he notices my misspeak, he doesn’t show it. In fact, he leans in a little closer, the masculine scent of him far more delicious than the cookies—and the cookies smell pretty darn amazing. “I have a home here and in Germany. Germany is central to my European tours and while I love Germany, New York is my preferred home. That’s what I was arguing with my agent about when you walked up on me at the auction,” he continues. “He wants me to go on a European tour again at the first of the year.”
“And you don’t want to go?” I ask, surprised at how much I don’t want him to go. Which is silly. I just met him. Of course, he will leave soon. His international market is massive.
“No,” he says, his eyes meeting mine. “I find New York calling me right now. Have you ever been to Germany?”
“I haven’t even been to a German restaurant.”
“You’re kidding me. You’ve never had spaetzle?”
“What is spaetzle?”
“German pasta.” His cellphone buzzes with what sounds like an alarm. He snags his phone from his jacket pocket and silences it. “Unfortunately, our talk of spaetzle must wait until later. I have a meeting at Riptide with Mark and Chris. Can I give you a ride home on the way?”
“No,” I say quickly, the idea of putting him out and making him late one I won’t allow. “I’m going to make another stop at this end of the city.” I grab my bag. “I have to swing by my client’s office and talk to him. I really should have been on my way by now. His office is right around the corner.” Which, thankfully, is also not a lie. I do think I’ll stop by and see Ed. An in-person visit will soften the bad news.
He shrugs into his jacket. “I’ll walk you there.”
I don’t know why I suddenly feel awkward when I didn’t a few moments ago. “That’s not necessary.”
“No,” he agrees. “It’s not necessary, not necessary at all. Most things worth doing aren’t. That’s what makes them meaningful.” There’s a bloom of warmth between us, and a message in his words. He chooses to walk with me. He wants to walk with me. And I am far from eager to end this encounter.
“I’d like that,” I say of his offer.
At my reply, there is something that resembles relief in his eyes but that makes no sense. Surely he didn’t really think that I’d decline his company? He motions to my cup. “Do you want to take your coffee to go?”
I shake it to find that, having sipped in between our conversation, it’s all but gone. “Nothing to take.”
He grabs both our cups tosses them into the can just behind him. “Hang tight a minute,” he says, grabbing the cookie box and walking around me to the counter, where he speaks to Jenny.
I wait and as I do every empty second I own these days, I grab my phone from my bag and check for messages from Gio, but as is always the case, there’s nothing.
Kace heads back my direction and by the time I slide my phone back into my bag, he’s in front of me, offering me his hand to help me up. Once again, it feels like a question. One I know I shouldn’t answer with yes, and yet, what do I do? I steel myself for the impact of his touch and I press my palm to his. I, in essence, say yes. He eases me to my feet and then we’re close again, really close, our hands still joined. He towers over me, staring down at me, and I’m transfixed, drowning into the deep depths of his stare. And yet somehow, as intimate as this moment, I understand what Crystal meant when she described him as reserved. He’s here with me, one hundred percent present, and yet he’s not. There’s more to him, something edgy and dark, something I don’t understand, but Lord help me, I want to understand.
“We’d better go,” he murmurs softly.
“Yes,” I say, feeling an odd sense of regret, when nothing about this encounter should scream regret at all.
Several people crowd into the seating area, and Kace—reluctantly, it seems—releases my hand. The people just keep coming, and I maneuver forward. Kace is right behind me as I pause at the counter to smile at Jenny. “Thank you, Jenny. I loved everything. It was delicious.”
“Oh good, honey.” She hands me a bag. “Those are for you. Come back.” She points at Kace. “With him.” She waves and hurries to the opposite counter to help a customer.
Oh my god. She didn’t say that. My cheeks are officially hot with her assumptions about me and Kace and I can’t look at him. I hurry forward, and once we’re outside, the chill of the fall day is no match for the heat of my embarrassment over Jenny’s comment. “You don’t have to walk me,” I say again, forcing myself to face him.
His eyes burn with understanding. He knows what she did. He knows what I feel. “We already established that I don’t have to walk with you and that I want to walk with you. And I’m pretty sure Jenny is watching expectantly. She wants us to leave together. Let’s do this for her and us. Which way are we headed?”