Page 62 of The Witness

“I’m not sure what—”

“Please, I’m old, not blind. She isn’t an easy woman. You only get one chance, and you’re about to blow it.”

“It’s been awkward since we got back from Havana.” I rubbed the back of my neck with a suddenly sweaty palm.

“Don’t wait too long to make your move. Sabrina doesn’t give men do-overs. You have one chance to show your true colors, and if they are lacking, she will boot your ass to the curb. She let her baby daddy lie his way out of a million small disasters until there was one too big to ignore. Now she has a zero-tolerance policy; she will not come that last inch on her own. You need to motivate her.”

“Why are you telling me all this?” I changed lanes and merged with the northbound traffic on the highway.

“You look like my last and best chance to find someone to take care of her when I’m gone. If she’s alone when I die, she’ll end up living in that restaurant and working herself to death. Don’t fuck this up.” She put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed hard.

“I’m trying.”

“Try harder. I’m overlooking the tattoos and Harley, because so far you have been there for her in a way no man ever has. Not even her father, God rest his soul. He died when she was too young. She never got to really know him. He was a good man, so was my second husband, and I want the same for her.”

It had been a long time since a virtual stranger had labeled me a good man. An unexpected warmth bloomed in my chest at the praise.

“And suggestions for ways to impress?”

“Ha, not on your life. You figure that out on your own. But if you can free up your schedule, I need a bartender for my holiday party. Sabrina will be there.”

“I’m in.”

Chapter 28

Sabrina

Isavored the moment, pouring the morning’s first cup of coffee from my French press into my favorite mug in my own kitchen. Sigh. I missed my house. It had only been a few days, but when I’d left, I didn’t know when I’d come home.

I’d slept like the dead last night. This morning’s strong brew chased away a few of the cobwebs fogging my brain. It was almost like a sleep hangover.

Falling asleep last night had been a challenge.

Even after my giant bowl of homemade carbonara and a few glasses of wine, I’d been jumpy. Alone, I’d walked the house twice, checking the locks, cameras, and alarm system. The new tech was great, but also awful. The glaring red lights on the cameras and sensors were a constant reminder of what might happen.

I’d draped a tee-shirt over the softly glowing alarm control panel in my bedroom to try to block its existence from my mind.

Even my favorite pillow and oldest, softest sleep shirt hadn’t helped me get comfortable. If I’d had Michael in the house with me, I’d either already be asleep or having a screaming orgasm. Either way, it would have been better than lying alone in bed looking at the ceiling fan, jumping at every small noise. It was past midnight before I finally fell into a dreamless sleep.

Ugh, I should have said something to encourage him. He’d wanted to talk, but everything moved so fast yesterday and I’d been in charge of nothing. John Smith orchestrated it all. I’d drifted along, not wanting to make waves that might screw something up.

I perched on the bar stool in my kitchen, enjoying another delicious sip of morning coffee. A little caffeine was all I needed to get moving and clear the fog from my head so I could tackle the day. It promised to be a doozie.

I yawned and stretched.

“Shit.” The knock on my front door made me jump. I sloshed coffee on my clean countertop. It was only seven. I guess the Smith Agency’s idea of first thing in the morning and mine were different.

With a groan I trudged to the front door, grabbing a discarded cardigan from the back of the couch as I went. Somehow, I pulled it on without spilling my coffee. There was no way I answered the door in my million-year-old near transparent New Kids on the Block concert tee shirt and sleep shorts. A braless nipple poking out of young Donnie Wahlberg’s forehead at seven am would surely send any man running.

“Coming!” I shouted.

“No rush,” Michael yelled back, and a flush of excitement rushed through me. He’d beaten Simon and his crew to my place.

I stopped in front of the main control panel for the new alarm system. Michael smiled up at the camera. The video displayed on the little screen next to the keypad in my hallway. I had to think for a moment to recall the code Simon had programmed to disarm it. The front door’s new deadbolt turned easily and made a reassuringly solid sound as it disengaged. I wrapped my sweater tight to hide the faded NKOTB shirt and my unfettered boobs before I pulled open the door.

“I didn’t wake you, did I?” Michael had a crooked smile on his lips that made me want to kiss him, but morning breath was a real concern.

“No, I’m up.” I hoisted my coffee mug in his direction as proof I’d been up long enough to brew coffee.

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