“I’m going to need a little more information.”
“I have to see my cousin. His name is Anthony. He’s in prison there.”
“Oh.” Relief sweeps through me. A cousin. I can deal with that. “Of course.”
“I got on his visitor’s list, and I have to go at one because my aunt is going this morning. I don’t want to disturb their time. But visitation is over at two, and I want at least an hour. I just need you to take me. They won’t let us both go in. I just don’t… I don’t want to go alone.”
“I understand.” I wouldn’t want to go to a prison alone either.
I came a hair’s breadth away from a lifetime in one.
In fact, if anyone other than Katelyn were asking me to do this, the answer would be not only no, but hell no.
“I’ll get a cab and come get you.”
“You don’t have a car?”
“No one has a car in New York, Katelyn.”
“Oh. Yeah. Of course. But a cab’s so expensive. It’s upstate. About an hour away.”
“I know where it is. Don’t worry. It’s on me.”
“I couldn’t.”
“You didn’t. I offered.”
“I have money, Luke.”
“So do I, and I can’t think of anything better to spend it on than an afternoon with you.” True words. Even a cab ride to a prison sounds good if Katelyn is involved.
“I’ll be at your place around eleven. Sound good? Will that give us enough time?”
“Yeah. I think so. I’ll eat an early lunch.”
“Better yet, you and I will go to lunch beforehand. Name the place.”
“I’m still new here. I don’t know any places other than The Glass House and that Italian place we went to.”
“Good enough. I’ll walk to your place, we’ll find a place for early lunch, and then we’ll hail a cab and get to the prison.”
“All right.” I almost hear a smile in her voice. “Thank you, Luke.”
“You’re welcome. See you soon.”
My day is suddenly better.
I’m going to see Katelyn today.
She’s waiting for me on the sidewalk outside her building. Why doesn’t she want me to go in and pick her up? I choose not to question this, though. I want to have a nice lunch with her.
Maybe find out why she’s visiting her cousin in prison. Is it just a family visit? Or is there more to it?
I smile and brush my lips over her pink cheek. “Hi, Katelyn.”
“Hi.”
“There’s a great little breakfast place a couple blocks over.”
“Sounds good. I haven’t had breakfast yet.”
“They have amazing pancakes and waffles. Or you can have a sandwich. I think they start serving lunch around ten-thirty.”
“Actually, pancakes sound good. My mom used to make pancakes. Out of a box, of course. She’s a terrible cook. But the pancakes turned out perfect every time.”
“Pancakes it is, then.” I grab her hand.
She tenses for a moment but then I feel her relax. Her hand is kind of clammy, but so is mine. It’s been a long time since I’ve been nervous around a woman. Definitely new to me.
Which is far from a bad thing.
We don’t talk on the walk, but it feels very natural. Katelyn’s not a big talker, which will make it all the more difficult for me to find out why exactly she’s visiting her cousin in prison. She so was not an escort. Maybe it’s none of my business. It probably isn’t, though I can’t help but feel that everything about Katelyn is my business.
No. Stop.
I won’t go there. I won’t treat Katelyn the way I treated the others. It’s not fair to her. It’s not fair to me, either. I won’t sacrifice nearly a year’s growth. I can’t.
We’re lucky to get a table as soon as we reach the café. A server takes our coffee orders—Katelyn likes hers black, same as I do. Not exactly a solid foundation for a relationship, but it’s a start.
She buries her nose in the menu and widens her eyes.
“See something you like?”
“Blueberry cheesecake pancakes. That’s got to be a thousand calories right there.”
“You hardly need to worry about that.”
She blushes—that rosy hue that I imagine going down past her V-neck to the swell of her breasts.
“I haven’t been very hungry lately,” she says.
“So? Order them, and only eat a couple bites if you want. There aren’t any pancake police around.” I smile.
That gets a giggle out of her.
Nice.
The sound of her voice brings me joy, especially when it’s part of a laugh. I’ve never heard anything sweeter.
The server returns.
“The lady will have the blueberry cheesecake pancakes,” I say, “and I’ll have the short stack, butter and maple syrup.”
“Very good.” The server makes a notation and whisks away from the table.
“You’re a purist,” she says.
“I suppose so. When it comes to pancakes. And to black coffee.”
“Do you have trouble staying away from alcohol?” she asks.
Hmm. That came out of nowhere. May as well be honest. “Sometimes. It’s a daily battle.”