She stared at the wine, then at him. “What are you doing here? You should be in Boston, working.”
“Some things are more important than work.” He stepped inside without waiting for an invitation and dropped his bag on the floor. “I heard you were in Paris. I thought you might need a friend.”
“A friend?”
“I don’t blame you for looking surprised. I don’t claim to be an experienced friend, but I have had plenty of experience of going back to a place that has bad memories so I figure I can learn the rest as I go along.”
She was still dizzy from the shock of seeing him on her doorstep. “How did you find me?”
“I threatened Jackson until he revealed everything he could remember about the view from the window. I got here and worked it out. There aren’t that many apartments that give a view of the river and the Louvre. I banged on a few doors and woke a few people up.” He put the wine down on the counter and glanced around him. “Nice place.”
“It’s tiny.” And it seemed even tinier now that Sean was standing in it. Broad and powerfully built, he filled the space but there was something so reassuring about his presence she felt the tension rush out of her. She should send him away but she couldn’t bring herself to do it.
“If you’re done cleaning, do you feel like showing me around? Taking me to your favorite parts of Paris? You should have phoned me to tell me you were thinking of coming, then we could have flown together.”
“I wouldn’t have done that.”
“No. You’re too scared that calling me will turn what we have into a relationship. I get that.” He opened cupboards until he found wineglasses. “So, I’m starving and there’s nothing to eat here. What’s wrong? Your kitchen is usually crammed with food.”
“I didn’t feel like cooking.” Because everything reminded her of her mother and remembering hurt too much. And perhaps he realized that because he watched her for a long moment and then nodded.
“Right. Well I’m doubly glad I came because if you don’t feel like cooking then I know there’s something wrong. So where is the best place for dinner?”
“Close by? There is only a local brasserie.”
“That will do fine.”
“Sean, what are you doing here?”
He poured wine into glasses and handed her one. “I never thanked you properly, did I?”
“Thanked me for what?”
“For being there this summer. For pushing me to fix things with Gramps. For listening while I talked about Dad. For all of it.”
“I didn’t do anything. You did it. You have nothing to thank me for.” She sipped the wine and it was so good, for a moment she closed her eyes. It made her think of Snow Crystal, of summer, of him.
“Being with you got me through this summer. When I got the news that Gramps had collapsed—” he put his glass down slowly “—I felt as if I’d been kicked in the gut by a moose. And then when he told me to get back to Boston—I had no idea how to fix it—how to bridge that gulf.”
“He loves you. He is so proud of you.”
“I know. And I love him.” He gave a faint smile. “Listen to me, getting all mushy, as Tyler would say.”
“I’m glad things are better.”
“They are. I’ve even promised to be there for family night next month and I’m talking to Brenna about helping put together a pre-conditioning program for the winter.” He looked at the stack of shoe boxes on the floor. “What are those?”
“Photographs.” She felt an ache in her chest. “My mother took a lot of photographs. I can’t face looking at them yet but I can’t bring myself to throw them away, either.
I’m glad things are better at home for you, but that still doesn’t tell me what you’re doing here.”
“So far you’ve done all the supporting in this friendship, so I figured it was my turn. I thought I’d hang around in case you need someone to carry heavy boxes or punch ex-husbands.”
Her gaze met his. “You’d crumple your shirt.”
“Some things are worth the sacrifice.” He lifted his glass and drank. “So have you heard from him?”
“No. And I don’t want to.”