Page 10 of Just for Her
How had that even happened? As far as I knew, I hadn’t said or done anything that would suggest I was interested in something more than a purely professional, working relationship. I didn’t have time for a social life. My job was my life, and honestly, after seeing the dark side of relationships day in and day out, I was perfectly okay with that.
Additionally, I had yet to meet a woman who made me reconsider my all-work-and-no-play bachelor plan.
Oh, I wasn’t a complete nonbeliever in happily ever afters. I knew there were successful relationships out there. My parents were a perfect example, as were my grandparents. And more recently, two of my brothers had found theirright onestoo. But me?Cupidohad yet to shoot an arrow into my ass, I was happy to say.
Once again, an image of Allison Kearney popped into my head. Sea-green eyes sparkling with intelligence and concern. Conservatively and professionally dressed. Classically pretty. Well-spoken. Overall, she’d made a great first impression on me.
Unfortunately, I didn’t think I’d made a favorable impression on her. Itirkedme, enough that I was having trouble concentrating. I needed to get out of the office for a little while. Maybe some food and fresh air would help clear my head enough, so I could come back later and actually get something done.
I locked up and exited the building, pleased to see that there was still some daylight left, and started walking without a specific destination in mind. I stopped at Manetti’s, the convenience store not too far from my building, and grabbed a hoagie and a bag of chips.
Dinner of champions. Or overworked counselors who didn’t have a life outside the office.
I wasn’t ready to head right back, however. Earlier passing showers had left the air smelling fresh and noticeably cooler. I decided to walk a few more blocks instead, my feet subconsciously carrying me toward my grandparents’ bookstore.
The comforting scents of fresh espresso and mynonna’s baked goods lingered in the air along with old wood and the tens of thousands of books housed among the shelves. Mynonnowas busy helping a customer, but he looked up when I stepped in and offered a wave.
I spotted my brother Nick over in his usual corner. As always, he had his laptop open and a cup of coffee on the table beside him, focused on penning—typing—his next best seller. He didn’t look away from his screen for a good five minutes after I sat down. I envied his powers of concentration, especially since mine seemed to be sorely lacking.
I waited patiently for him to notice me, taking advantage of the impromptu downtime by sinking back into the comfy chair, closing my eyes, and letting the ambiance siphon off some of the stress. Unsurprisingly, an image of Allison Kearney painted the backs of my lids.
“What’s wrong?”
I opened one eye to find Nick looking at me with concern. “What makes you think anything’s wrong?”
“Because you only come here when you’re stressed out.”
“That’s not true.”
He raised an eyebrow. Okay, it was kind of true. I wasn’t the type of guy who catnapped in bookstores.
He smirked. “What’s her name?”
“I think that romance-author mentality is rotting your brain. Why does it have to be about a woman?”
He laughed. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
He wasn’t wrong. The quietest and arguably the most levelheaded of my siblings, he was also an excellent sounding board, so I gave him the condensed version. I told him how I was buried with work. About Gina’s observations and Stella’s behavior. I finished up with Allison Kearney’s visit earlier that morning, downplaying the effect it’d had on me, trying to make it sound like an afterthought instead of the mild obsession it had become.
Nick wasn’t fooled at all. He zeroed in on Allison with the military precision of the former Marine he was.
“Tell me more about Allison Kearney.”
I shrugged, acting as if I didn’t want to talk more about her, and then spent the next fifteen minutes doing just that.
When I was finished, he sat back, his expression thoughtful. “So, what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.” I rubbed at the dull throb that had taken up in my forehead, index finger on one side, thumb on the other. “Got any suggestions?”
His wry grin was back. “I don’t know. Perhaps I could be persuaded if you share some of that.” He pointed at my hoagie.
“Deal.”
I opened the bag and gave him half, keeping the other half for myself. He took a bite and closed his eyes. “Manetti’s makes the best hoagies.”
I heartily concurred.
“So before I say anything, are you asking Nick Cerasino or Nick Penn for advice?”
