“Yes, she is,” Stevie agreed, giving the tabby a fond smile.
Cole claimed occasionally that he’d bought the cat with the house. He’d lived here only a couple weeks when a pathetic kitten had appeared on his doorstep out of a winter rainstorm, wet and hungry and miserable. Hearing the meows, he’d opened the door to investigate and the little stray had darted past him into the living room. Other than visits to the vet, she hadn’t been outside since.
He’d planned initially to find a good home for the stray, but somehow she’d ended up staying. He and Dusty, who was named for her habit of emerging from under furniture with dust bunnies on her nose, got along like a couple of contented hermits. Still, it was always a treat for them when Stevie dropped by. Sometimes he thought they were both a little too eager for her visits.
Weren’t cats and computer analysts supposed to be contentedly independent and naturally aloof? He’d wondered more than once what sort of special magic Stevie wielded to enchant them so thoroughly, though he hoped he was a bit more discreet about his fascination with her than his pet. He treasured his unconventional friendship with Stevie too much to risk it with the awkwardness of an unrequited infatuation.
A data analyst for a national medical group, Cole worked primarily from home. He made a few business trips a year for planning and progress meetings, but mostly he communicated with the outside world via computer and smartphone.
His late wife had teasingly accused him of taking introversion to the extreme. But it wasn’t that he disliked people. He was just more comfortable with computers, especially since Natasha’s difficult illness.
It was suddenly very quiet in the room. Pushing thoughts of the painful past from his mind, he cleared his throat and glanced toward the window. “Sounds like the sleet has stopped. Maybe it’s finally changing over to snow. I’d rather have snow than ice.”
Stevie nodded with a bit too much enthusiasm for the banal comments. “No kidding. At least this weather hit on a Friday so most people don’t have to get out for work or school tomorrow. Not that local schools would be open, anyway. You know they close at the first sign of a snowflake. But still, I hope we get enough snow for the kids to build snowmen and have snowball fights. That’s not something they get to do very often around here, so they’ll want to make the most of it. I remember how disappointed I always was when we got all psyched up for snow and had to settle for just a dusting. Still, I hope it’s gone by Monday. I have a couple of meetings I’d really hate to have to put off.”
He chuckled, accustomed to her characteristic, stream-of-consciousness prattling. “Let’s hope there’s enough snow for the kids to enjoy over the weekend but that it melts quickly enough not to cause too many issues for the coming week.”
“That would work.” She smiled, but he had the distinct feeling something was wrong. For one thing, she was twisting a curl tightly around her fingertip, a nervous habit he’d noticed several times during the past few months.
Stevie was one of the most naturally effervescent women he’d ever known, outgoing and optimistic and a little quirky. She’d grown up in the comfortable bungalow on the corner lot next door in Little Rock, Arkansas. She’d been the first to welcome him to the street when he’d bought this house in the midtown neighborhood that was currently undergoing a revival after a decade-long slump. He’d made a tidy profit on the condo he’d sold last year, and he thought he’d do the same with this place if his needs changed again. Even better than that, he’d gained Stevie as a neighbor.
He wondered if it was only the bad weather that had left her free on a Friday night to keep his cat company and doze on his couch. As far as he knew, she hadn’t dated anyone since a breakup some three months ago. When they’d first met, he’d had designs on her, and maybe he’d even had a few fantasies about her since, but he’d never acted on any of them. She’d been involved with the hipster musician, which had made her off-limits. Not that he had a chance with her anyway.
Inherently candid, Stevie had once confessed to him during a rambling conversation that she had a lamentable weakness for footloose artists and musicians, a penchant that had left her soft heart bruised more than once. He’d gotten the message, whether intentional or not on her part. Reclusive computer geeks were not her type romantically, though she seemed pleased to have one among her many pals.
Since she’d split with Joe, she’d been slightly more subdued than usual, but tonight she seemed even more dispirited. Had she been crying because she was lonely? Or—he swallowed hard, very much disliking the other possibility—because she missed the guy who’d caused her so much grief before he’d left town to start a new single life in Texas?
He tried to think of something more to say, but small talk wasn’t his forte. Stevie usually carried their conversations, chattering away while he enjoyed listening and responding when prompted. Yet she never seemed bored by him, another trait that made her so special. Stevie would never yawn and check her watch during dinner with him.
He winced as he remembered the recent blind date he’d been stupid enough to consent to after being nagged by a friend’s wife. He’d been just as disinterested during the evening, but he’d at least had the courtesy to not be so obvious about it. When he wanted to spend time with a woman, he had a few numbers he could call, a couple of women friends who wanted nothing more from him than a few hours of mutual pleasure. He didn’t make those calls often—and even less so during the past couple of months, for some reason.
He didn’t know why his mind had drifted in that direction at the moment, though the thought of dinner gave him inspiration. “Have you eaten?” he asked Stevie. “I’ve been on a plane all afternoon and I’m hungry.”
She hesitated, then smiled a bit more naturally. “No, actually, I haven’t had dinner. I might have even skipped lunch. I don’t remember.”
The admission made him even more convinced that something was troubling her, but he figured she’d tell him when and if she was ready. Maybe over a hot meal.
“I froze portions of that big
pot of soup you made for me last week. It’ll take just a few minutes to thaw and heat a couple bowlfuls.”
She smoothed her tousled hair with one hand and nodded. “Sounds good. Just let me wash up and I’ll help you.”
“I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”
Hastily stashing his bags to unpack later, he busied himself preparing the impromptu meal. Had he found the empty house he’d expected when he’d returned, he’d have nuked the soup and eaten in front of the TV with a beer straight from the can. But since he had company, he made more effort, setting the table with placemats and flatware, making sure the bowls weren’t scratched or chipped.
For the most part, he’d learned to be content with his quiet life, so why was he so pleased by the prospect of sharing a simple bowl of soup with Stevie on a bleak, winter evening?
* * *
After splashing water on her face in Cole’s guest bathroom, Stevie pressed a hand to her still-flat stomach, drew a deep breath and assured herself she looked reasonably presentable considering she’d just been startled out of a sound sleep. She seemed to be sleepy a lot these days. She hadn’t even heard Cole enter the house.
The thought of him standing there watching her sleep made her pulse flutter. She supposed it was embarrassment at being caught off guard in his living room. He didn’t seem to mind that she’d made herself at home while he was away, but then, she wouldn’t have expected anything different from laid-back Cole.
In the year she’d known him, she’d never seen him rattled. She’d rarely observed any display of strong emotions from him, actually. He was the steadiest, most sensible person she knew, a calming presence in her sometimes hectic life. Maybe that was why she’d instinctively taken refuge in his living room when she’d been sad and stressed, though her cat-sitting duties had made a convenient excuse.
She scrutinized her reflection in the mirror. Had Cole seen the tear stains on her cheeks? She thought maybe he had and felt the heat of embarrassment. Though she wasn’t usually shy about expressing her emotions—even tended to overshare at times—Stephanie “Stevie” McLane liked to think of herself as resilient, feisty and courageous. Not the type to hide in a friend’s house and sniffle into his cat’s soft fur. Still, Cole had merely searched her face with his dark, perceptive eyes, calmly asked if everything was okay, then offered her a hot meal. Somehow he’d seemed to know it was exactly what she’d needed, and not just because she was hungry.