“What about Brunswick?”
“What about him?”
“You two aren’t…” he trailed off.
“No, no, we’re not.”
“Oh,” he said, sounding somewhat pensive. “Okay, I had to ask. If you change your mind about dancing, text me. Afterward, we could hit this great new restaurant I know about that stays open late.”
And then just like that he hung up and Jude couldn’t help feeling the guy had been on a fishing expedition, although she had no idea why she felt that way. Before she had time to ponder Dirk’s motives, her mother phoned to fret about a family friend who was divorcing after thirty-seven years of marriage.
“I just can’t understand it,” Mom said for the twentieth time. “Why now after so many years together are Paul and Celeste calling it quits?”
“Mom, what I know about true love could get lost in a flea’s pocket.”
Her mother chuckled. “Dear, I don’t think fleas have pockets, but I do love the way you’ve bounced back since Jaxon. Better for him to leave you at the altar than after decades of marriage like Celeste.”
“I’m sorry to hear about Paul and Celeste. I can tell their breakup has upset you, but don’t worry about Daddy. He’d not going to leave you.”
“Of course he’s not.” Mom’s voice took on a dreamy quality. “Your father and I are not just soul mates, we’re best friends.”
They were too. Whenever she saw her folks together, Jude couldn’t help feeling she was missing out big-time. She’d been so desperate to find her soul mate she’d latched on to Jaxon and convinced herself that he was The One.
She was wiser now and wouldn’t so easily jump into romantic relationships in the future. She’d made herself too available with Jaxon, always ready to drop whatever she was doing to make time for him. Well, no more of that nonsense. She wasn’t twisting herself into a pretzel for some guy, not ever again.
Being on twenty-four-hour call whenever Jaxon wanted to see her had probably been a major blunder, much as it hurt to admit it now. Whenever she did finally marry, she wanted a union just like her parents, not Paul and Celeste.
Jude steered the conversation away from the divorcing couple, chatting with her mother about less stressful things than the end of a long-term marriage, while she padded into the kitchen to make coffee and avocado toast.
Finishing her call with her mother, she ate her very late breakfast, then cleaned up her dishes. After that, she Face-timed her cousin Leigh and told her all about the evening.
“So,” Leigh said. “This Tom guy, he’s a good dancer.”
“Yes.”
“And he’s hot.”
“Most definitely.”
“Could there be romance in the air?”
“I’m not ready for that.”
“Why not?”
“I want to find me before I get involved with anyone again. Besides, I’m not sure we’d be very compatible.”
“Do you want me to tell you the story of how Max and I met again?” Leigh asked, referring to her husband, who was a crown prince. Literally.
“No, I remember.”
“Just saying you might be more compatible than you originally thought.”
“I’m not even entertaining thoughts like that.”
“Don’t close yourself off to possibilities.”
“Thanks for the advice.”
“Do you want a tour of the house?” Leigh asked.
“Thought you’d never ask.”
For the next thirty minutes, Leigh carried her computer through her mansion, showing Jude her lavish home.
“I still can’t believe you married a prince,” Jude said.
“Hey, you never know what’s around the next corner. Don’t give up hope.” Leigh gave her a pep talk, and then they said goodbye.
For the next four hours, Jude did laundry, read a book, watched the TV program Natural Curiosities, and marveled over the competitiveness of animals. It was a nice, relaxing Sunday afternoon. She wasn’t expecting company so the door buzzer startled her, making her wonder whether to ignore it or answer.
Curiosity won out. She went to the intercom. “Who is it?”
“Tom Brunswick. May I come up?”
Her pulse quickened and her mind flew back to those sexy dreams. “Why?”
“Why not?”
“I’m still in my pajamas.”
“I don’t mind.”
I just bet you don’t.
“Please?” he said. “I’ll wait down here while you get dressed.”
“What do you want?” That sounded tacky and not the least bit like her, but her knees were already quivering at the thought of seeing him again. Especially since she’d kissed him last night like a total dumbbell.
On the cheek. It wasn’t even a real kiss. No, but her mouth had tingled for an hour afterward. Jude fingered her lips.
“I’d like to have a face-to-face conversation.” He paused. “Please.”
She hesitated, part of her wanting to tell him she was busy, even as another, hungrier part of her said, “Give me ten minutes and I’ll buzz you up.”
“Seriously, what on earth are you doing here?” Jude asked from the open door of her apartment.
Panting after he’d sprinted up the three flights of stairs—why had he sprinted up three staircases—Tom couldn’t answer right away. He pressed a hand to his chest and inhaled sharply.
Her big blue eyes widened. “Are you all right?”
He gasped, then nodded. Was his face as flushed as he feared?
“Um, do you need a glass of water?”
He waved away her question. “I…er…I happened to be in the area, and you popped into my mind and I thought, ‘hey, why not see if Jude is home.’”
“All right, I’ll buy that.” Her nose crinkled and her eyes narrowed. “But why?”
Yeah, Brunswick, why?
She chuffed out a big breath of air as if she’d been the one to run three flights of stairs. Yes, he was yammering on about the stairs, but he’d been running really fast and it wiped him out, especially after ninety minutes in the gym that morning.
“C’mon in then.” She motioned him over the threshold.
Yay! Why did he feel like he’d won a hundred dollars on a lottery scratch-off?
He slipped inside her apartment, passing her as she stood beside the open door. Her scent—a comforting blend of old books, dried rose petals, and vanilla bean—teased his nose as he sauntered past.
“Have a seat.” She gestured at the couch.
He sat down as he watched her take the plump armchair across from him. He couldn’t help smiling at her. She had that effect on him.
Niceness beget niceness.
She pressed her knees together a little primly and settled her joined hands into her lap.
“Now, tell the truth. Why did you drop in on me?”
“You did ask me to help you shake off the niceness.”
“Turns out it was a rhetorical question.”
He raised an eyebrow, studying her intently. “Backtracking?”
“What?”
“Rhetorical is not the way I remember it. In fact, you said, and I quote, ‘Just give me some advice on how I can be a little bolder, a little less ‘nice,’ and the tickets are yours.’”