Page 32 of Our Little Secret

She had yet to tell her husband and didn’t look forward to Neal’s reaction.

“You’re married,” Gideon said, pointing at her wedding ring.

“Yeah.”

“Kids?”

“A daughter. Teenager. You?”

“Married? Nah.” He shook his head. “Got close a couple of times but never quite made it to tying the knot or . . . pulling the trigger, depending on what you think about ‘holy matrimony.’” He made air quotes, even using the fingers of his hand surrounding the cup. “As for kids?” Again the crooked grin. “None that I know of.”

She pulled a face.

“Sorry, bad joke. But no. No kids.” His eyebrows raised. “That I regret.” He leaned back in the booth. “So, this is the middle of the day. And you’re here. No job?”

“No. Yes, I mean, no, I don’t have a job anymore.” Another sip. “I did until today. A good job. Selling software to hospitals, but . . .” She shrugged. “Competition, I guess. The company’s struggling and they had to cut back. So—” She set down her cup. “Anyway, I just found out today.”

“Oh. Sorry.” He stared at her over the rim of his cup. “You sad about it?”

“Sad?” She thought about it. She was worried. Angry. Upset. But sad? “No. Not really. But it’s a problem.”

“So, losing the job could be a release.”

“What?”

“You know. Maybe now you’re free.” Gray eyes studied her. “Come on. The truth. Did you love it? Look forward to going to hospitals and trying to convince some budget-conscious administrator or manager how great the latest version of your software was, how they absolutely needed it?”

She lifted a shoulder. “It was a job.”

“There are other jobs. Maybe there’s something out there more exciting? Something you’ll really be passionate about.”

“I, uh—I invested,” she admitted, then wished she could take the words back.

“And you got burned.”

She was nodding, thinking she was divulging far too much to this perfect stranger.

He shrugged. “Happens all the time.”

“Easy to say, but when it happens to you it’s different.”

“I suppose.” He finished his coffee. “You know what you need?”

“No, what?” She eyed him skeptically.

“A ride on a sailboat.”

“Oh right!” With all of her problems, the last thing she needed to do was throw caution to the wind and go sailing. Shaking her head, she got to her feet. “That is definitely not what I need.” He was still seated, long, jean-clad legs stretched out. “You don’t know me.”

“You’re right,” he agreed. “I don’t. But if you change your mind, I’ve got a boat down at the marina. TheMedusa.”

“You named your boat after Medusa? From mythology? The gorgon, or goddess, or whatever she was, with the head filled with snakes?”

He stood then and said, “You know, Brooke, things aren’t always what they seem.”

“Then what are they?”

He laughed and checked his watch. “Uh-oh. Gotta run.” He smiled, his gaze finding hers again. “Thanks for the coffee.”

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