Page 88 of Desired Hearts
“How she feels about me now,” I clarified. “There’s no doubt she likes me, but is that enough?”
“Pretty sure her feelings are stronger than that,” Mason said. “As to your question. You know as well as I do, there’s no future. No past. Just the present.”
He was right. The guys were no fortune tellers.
“You still going to Cole’s tomorrow?” I asked Beck.
“Yeah. You thinking of coming?”
“If you can wait until lunch. I’ll head into work early and finish up by then. Friday shouldn’t be a problem since the school is having some special event so we can’t get in there. Working the weekend instead.”
“Sounds good to me.” Beck was clearly thrilled to have the company.
He walked away, to a customer. Mason and I didn’t say anything for a while.
“Just do yourself a favor, buddy,” Mason said finally. “Don’t make the same mistake I did with Pia.”
“What’s that?”
“Letting the past haunt me. Almost fucked things up for good. You know it as well as anyone.”
And that was it. We didn’t talk about Delaney for the rest of the night.
But I did text her.
I shouldn’t have left. It wasn’t about the text. It was about me. I grew up believing love meant betrayal, and when I saw that message, I panicked. Truth is, I don’t want to be that guy. I want to trust this. Trust you. If you’ll let me.
She never responded.
* * *
Driving into Manhattan was also a real joy. By the time we found a spot on Cole’s street, it was well past four. Dropping our bags off in his apartment, we were in The Midnight Owl by four thirty.
I’d been here a few times before. It was quintessential Cole.
“Do you need an IQ over one-twenty to get into this place?” Beck asked as we walked inside. Vintage decor, dim lights and more tweed than probably in all of Greenwich Village, it had a definite vibe.
“One-thirty,” Cole said dryly.
“So, like, 2 percent of the population? Doesn’t seem like a sustainable business model.”
I looked at Cole. He nodded and shrugged.
It was something we did often, silently verifying a Beck-fact that seemed too specific to be right, but usually… it was. The guy really did hide his intelligence well. Most of the time.
We were there less than an hour when Cole introduced us to the guy with the log cabin. I swiveled around on my stool, and he declined my seat but said he wanted to thank me for meeting with the contractor.
“It was no problem at all,” I said. “Did you get them to fix it?”
“I did,” Cole’s professor friend said. “And Cole tells me you might be getting into the log cabin construction business?”
“I’m working on a loan now,” I said, leaving out the part about waiting for my new stepmother to get acclimated to her new job. I wondered what her adult children thought of her up and moving, after getting married, of course, to a new town.
“Good for you. I have the name of the guy who did mine if you want it? I’m sure he’d talk to you. Really nice fellow. He took over for his father who recently retired. They did a great job, I think. But what do I know about home building?”
“They definitely did a good job. I’d love the contact, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.”
