He nodded and ushered me along the lane. We came out between the greystones. In New York, they’d be brownstones. Same concept, different colored brick.
Gabriel led me up the wide front steps to the front door. As he opened it, I saw a small bronze plaque affixed to the stonework: Gabriel Walsh, Attorney-at-Law.
“This is your office?” I said.
Obviously it was. When I’d pictured his office, though, I’d imagined something unrelentingly modern. A sterile chrome and marble suite on the fortieth floor of some skyscraper.
He hesitated on the stoop, frowning at me slightly. Then he nodded. “Ah, I neglected to mention the pit stop, didn’t I? I need to sign some papers before my secretary arrives in the morning.” He hesitated. “I suppose you could have just waited in the car.”
He glanced back toward the road. He looked faintly confused, as he had when I’d asked about his office. No, not confused. Distracted. He had my cookie box in his hand and was holding it out awkwardly, as if it might leak and stain his jacket.
I was about to say I’d go in with him. Seeing the outside of his office made me curious about the rest. Then, before I could speak, I caught a movement down the road—someone getting out of a car—and suddenly I was the one forgetting what I was doing as I stood there, gaping. Luckily, Gabriel was still too distracted to notice, and I recovered before he did.
“Maybe I’ll walk around a bit out here,” I said. “Stretch my legs after the car ride.” As he reached for the doorknob, I said, “Take your time. I’ll probably go around a block or two.”
He nodded absently. “I should make a couple of calls.”
I waited until he’d gone in. Then I hurried down the steps. I paused at the bottom. The car I’d seen was only about fifty feet away. The man who’d gotten out was even closer, coming toward me. There was no doubt who it was, yet I paused there, sure I was mistaken, as I had been once before.
He’d been smiling when I first came down the steps. As I paused, worry flickered over his face, as if I might dart into the office instead.
When I continued toward him, the smile returned, blazing bright now.
“Liv.”
James covered the last few paces with his arms out, hesitating just before he reached me. I walked into his arms and hugged him back.
“You look good,” he said into my hair.
“No,” I said, backing up to look at him. “I look like shit. But thank you anyway.”
A sputtered laugh as he hugged me again.
“I saw the article,” he whispered as we separated. “I came by to speak to Mr. Walsh, hoping he was working late. I was just about to leave when you drove up.”
“Howard did warn you about the article, didn’t he?”
“Yes, I got his message. I got yours, too, from last Thursday night.” His hands rested on my hips. “I’ve been forwarding my line to my cell ever since, in case you called again.”
“I—”
“I didn’t really expect you to. I made a mess of things. I know that.” He took my hands, holding them and looking down at me. Then he glanced over my shoulder. “Can we go someplace? Talk?”
I wanted to say yes. Absolutely yes. Then I imagined telling Gabriel I was bailing on the interviews he’d arranged so I could spend some quality time with my ex.
“I can’t,” I said, then quickly added, “I will. We will. But…” I gestured back at Gabriel’s office. “He’s on the clock. He’s helping me sort things out with the Larsens.”
A faint tightening of James’s lips. “Yes, I read that. You need to be careful of men like that, Liv. I’m sure he told a good story when he tracked you down, but he’s only after your money. You really should have checked him out before hiring him. Or at least spoken to Howard. Walsh has a reputation—”
“For getting the job done,” I said. “For being a helluva good lawyer.”
I hadn’t meant to defend Gabriel, but this was about me. My ability to exercise common sense and good judgment.
“I’m sorry,” he said, moving forward again to take my hands. “I just thought that, under the circumstances, you might not be … yourself.”
A brief hug. I didn’t fall into it as I had before. He noticed and let me go awkwardly.
“So can we get together later? For a drink? A coffee?” A faint smile. “I promise not to question your choice of legal counsel.”
His smile was genuine, but his tone rankled. I told myself to relax. I was on edge, surprised to see him, happy to see him, but nervous and anxious, too.
“I can’t do it tonight,” I said. “I have to work early.”
“You got a job?”
I told myself that what I heard in his voice was surprise not shock. His smile seemed to confirm it as he said, “I should have known you wouldn’t be sitting around feeling sorry for yourself. Charge into action. That’s my Liv.”
There was nothing wrong with his words. Or the sentiment. So why did I feel that old prickle at the base of my neck, like a starched tag left in my shirt?
“It’s manual labor,” I said. “But it pays the bills.”
“Like I said, you always do what it takes. I’m proud of you. But I suspect that if you do come out with me tonight, you won’t need to go to work tomorrow.” He met my gaze. “We can work this out. Just meet me after you’re done with Walsh and…” He pulled his hand from his pocket and opened it. In his palm was my engagement ring. “Give me an hour, and all this will be over. You can come home.”
“I can come home?” I stepped back. “I was the one who left. No one—”
“That came out wrong. I’m…” A twist of a smile. “I’m a little nervous here, Liv. There’s a reason I have you write all my speeches, remember? I just meant that you don’t have to do this anymore. You don’t need to stay away. Come back, and I’ll take care of you.”
That scratching again at my collar. “I don’t need—”
He lifted his hands. “I know, I know. You can take care of yourself. I’m just saying you don’t need to.”
“What if I want to?”
His forehead furrowed. “Why?”
“Because I think I need to. I’m figuring out who I am, and that’s important right now.”
He stared at me as if I was speaking gibberish. Finally, he shook his head. “You’re still hurt and confused. There’s no need to punish yourself—”
“Punish myself?”
“Whatever the Larsens did has nothing to do with you.”
“Of course it doesn’t,” I snapped. “I was a toddler. I’m not punishing myself. Like I said, I’m figuring things out and I need time—”
“You’re still angry.” He sighed. “Are you punishing me because I didn’t—”
“No,” I said, my voice ringing along the empty road. “It is not about you. It’s about me. Just me. I—” I stopped. Took a deep breath. “I’m going to walk away now. I think you need to keep that ring.”
“Olivia…” There was a warning note in his voice that made my hackles rise. I resisted the urge to turn and kept going.
“Olivia.” Sharper now, as if speaking to a sulking child. “I came after you once. I’m not doing it again.”
No, James. You didn’t come after me. Not really. You let me run, and you followed a week later, not to talk, but to scoop me up and take me home. Give me time to learn my lesson and realize I want to go home.
I didn’t say that. I feared if I tried, I’d end up snarling it, and I didn’t feel like snarling. I felt like … Not crying, though there was a bit of that. I heard his words and his tone, and I just wanted to walk away. Go someplace quiet and grieve, because after a week of telling myself it wasn’t really over, I realized now that it was.
I turned slowly. “I’m sorry. I know you don’t understand this, and I don’t think I can explain it. I just need time to figure things out, on my own, and if you can’t give me that—”