An image of sweat-slicked John, fresh from his run and giving me his smarmy smile as we bumped into each other on the stoop for the first time, fills my mind. “So you brought a place here.”

“Yes. Even though it was tiny, had no doorman, and was away from all my friends. It was the spot where it all started, and now it is home.”

Mrs. Goldman reaches out and touches my hand with the tips of her fingers. Her knuckles are knobby, the back of her hand veined and spotted, but still elegant, her skin cool and soft. “Oh, you should have seen that man in his prime. Jerry was rich as Midas, handsome as sin, and looking at me as if I were a crisp hundred someone had left on the sidewalk.”

I laugh, and she allows a fond smile.

“And I was more than willing to be picked up. We fell for each other like a house of cards in a stiff wind. But I resisted for the very real fear that I’d lose myself to him. It was the late sixties. We women were burning our bras, but it was still a man’s world. I was a novelty to even have an office, much less a secretary. Every ounce of respect I gained I had to fight for. Fight to keep. How would it look if I suddenly took up with the big boss?”

She shrugged and sipped her drink. “I’d be seen as nothing more than a pathetic light skirt, scaling the corporate ladder on her knees. But I loved him so. I knew he was both the beginning and end of me. Jerry offered to quit, give it all up.” She ducks her head as if laughing inwardly. “But that wouldn’t have changed the perception of me. We were at a stalemate. Fated to both love and resent each other.”

“What did you do?” Obviously, she’d married the man.

“I broke up with him.” She pops a cherry into her mouth and chews industriously. “And I was damned miserable.”

“Did you go back to him?”

“No.” She smiles. “He called every evening with one question. ‘Is it still worth it?’ I held out for months. Until finally, I could answer, no, being apart from him wasn’t worth it.”

“Then you got together, lived happily ever after and all that jazz, right?”

Mrs. Goldman shakes her head. “No. Everything I feared they would think, they did. I had to quit the firm and open my own. Set me back years because no one wanted to hire a woman as their financial manager.” A dark look comes into her eyes. “But I persisted. And I made it.”

“But you lost—”

“What?” she cuts in. “The respect of a bunch of ignorant cocks who didn’t really respect me in the first place? Lost sleep? Money?”

She rests her arm on the table and for a moment the expression in her eyes is wide open and young. “I lost all those things. And gained the love of my life. It wasn’t all champagne and roses, though we indulged in those every day. We struggled, fought. Jerry had dark months of depression now and then. So did I. On paper, we were a disaster. Together …”

She tails off with a shrug and looks away. Tears well in her eyes, and she sniffs. “Damn, I really do want a cigarette.”

Her loss and the love she felt for her husband wraps around us, both smothering and yet somehow warm. I give her a moment, my own thoughts running amok.

“I don’t know if John is the one,” I say finally. “But he’s only one I’ve thought about taking a chance on.”

Mrs. Goldman straightens and pins me with a look. “Then what are you waiting for?”

Chapter Fifteen

Stella

* * *

My fingers are ice cold. I don’t know why I fixate on that, but I can’t seem to ignore it as I open the sliding glass door that leads to the terrace. My heart pounds heavy and frantic in my chest, and I take a deep breath in an attempt to calm down. I have no reason to be nervous, but here I am, freaking out.

At my ankles, Stevens lets out a plaintive yowl and rubs his sleek body against my calf. He’s been sticking close by since I got sick. I’m better now, but the little guy still worries.

“You’re staying here, bud.” I gently nudge him back into the house and close the door before he can follow. He stares at me with solemn eyes as if he’s sending me off to war.

I laugh at my wayward thoughts but it still doesn’t ease my tension.

The setting sun burns pink and gold along the terrace and warms the stone that runs along the wall between Killian’s place and John’s. I press my hands to the stone and close my eyes for a long second before leaning over and calling out. “I’m coming over the wall!”

John’s doors are open, and I soon hear his voice inside. “You can’t just text like a normal person, can you?”

“Nope!” I scramble over the wall—all grace and dignity—and hop down on his terrace. My hands have gone from icy to clammy.

I rub them on my shorts and make my way inside.

John sits slumped on his massive couch, his head turned my way. His expression is blank but despite his casual pose, the long lines of his body are tight and still, as if he’s holding his breath. He isn’t wearing anything but a pair of jeans slung low on his lean hips. His bare chest and hard abs are distracting as hell.

For a second, I just look at him. His chocolate-brown hair sticks up like he’s been gripping the ends of it. Thick stubble shadows his jaw, making his wide mouth seem paler but softer somehow. But his green eyes are hard now, an almost eerie jade surrounded by his dark lashes.

Facing him now just makes it more acute; I am seriously attached to John Blackwood. And this is not a good thing. He looks at me as if he’s thinking the same, like he’s warning me to turn around and get out while I can. But it’s too late.

I take a step closer to him. “So …”

The corner of his mouth quirks weakly. “So.”

It shouldn’t be this hard. My breath hitches. “I received an interesting email from Dr. Stern.”

He blinks slowly. “I bet. And?”

“I had strep throat.”

John seems to sag into the couch pillows. He doesn’t say anything, though. Just watches me.

I move a little closer. “In all other regards, I’m perfectly healthy. No STDs.”

He flinches, his fists clenching and releasing. “Good.” He clears his throat. “That’s good.”

“Is that why you stayed with me? Called your personal physician? Because you thought you’d given me chlamydia?”

Irritation flares in his eyes but when he speaks, his words are measured. “I called Stern because you were sick as hell. I stayed with you because you needed someone to take care of you.”

“But you were worried, weren’t you?” I say in a low voice. “That you’d given me an STD.”

He looks away and his jaw bunches. “Apparently, you can’t get it from kissing.”

“But did you know that? Is that why you backed away that night? Because you thought you were contagious?”

“Christ, Stells …” His eyes go wide and a bit wild. “I’ve done a lot of stupid things in my life, but I’d never put your health in danger that way. Fuck.” With a sound of annoyance, he looks away.

I feel about two feet tall. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m just trying to figure this out.”

He nods but keeps his attention on the far wall.

God, I’ve messed this up. I’m a professional friend, for fuck’s sake, but I don’t know what the hell I’m doing with John. He never reacts how I’ll expect, and I’m totally out of my element here. I stand by the edge of the couch and wring my hands. “I don’t understand. You were worried about me because—”