His eyebrows shoot up.
“Writer? No kidding?”
His smile broadens.
I nod in response.
“Where did you find a writer?”
“At the coffee shop,” I say curtly.
He ponders my answer, nodding softly.
“Writers and coffee shops. It makes sense. Is she published, or is she an aspiring writer?”
“She’s not published,” I say dryly, hoping to end this conversation.
I’ve given him enough to quench his curiosity and leave me––and, more importantly, the idea of her––alone.
“Interesting,” he says.
A few seconds pass as I tense up, expecting him to make a reference to Rain’s book.
Not many people know about my past and my special connection with her or that I funded her first business.
But Gavin and his brother are worldly men who happen to know a lot of women. And these women like their pillow talk.
I’m sure one of these stories might’ve made the rounds.
“A writer…” he murmurs again. “Make sure you’re not ending up in one of those smutty books,” he tosses at me with humor.
Even so, I can’t tell whether this is a direct reference to Rain or not.
“Don’t worry about it. I’m nothing to write about,” I reply, and he chuckles while I smile.
“I see what you did there. Although, I beg to differ,” he comments when his phone rings.
Surreptitiously, I let out a troubled exhale while he answers the call.
His face lights up when he speaks.
“Hi, James,” he says, looking at me.
He laughs again while I slide my hands into my pockets.
“Yeah, yeah… Things are good. I’m here with David.”
A few moments pass as James talks.
“Yes. For sure. We’ll travel back next week.”
His eyes slide down, and I take it as a sign that the conversation is moving toward a business topic and, hopefully, away from me.
I use the opportunity to turn my back to him and stare at the view as his words drip in the quiet evening in the background.
As mesmerizing as New York City is at night, I wish I could be back in Colorado, lying on Elizabeth’s couch, a bottle of wine on the coffee table, her legs spread across my lap.
It’s interesting how life works.