Made in Manhattan

“I’m a neighbor,” Violet pointed out.

“Exactly.”

“Okay,” she said, tapping her lips. “So you’re looking for an area where the neighbors are more like you. How about the Bronx Zoo?”

He poured himself more coffee, topped her up. “How long you been saving that comeback?”

“It came to me just now,” she said, feeling rather proud of herself.

Cain rolled his eyes, but he was smiling.

“Meatpacking District doesn’t suck,” Cain said after a moment.

The naming of a specific neighborhood surprised her, not because of the neighborhood itself but because he’d done his homework. She was more certain than ever that Cain’s attitude had changed over the past couple of weeks. No longer did he seemed poised to hop in a cab to LaGuardia for the first flight back to Louisiana at the soonest possible moment.

“Meatpacking District,” she mused. “I see that for you.”

“Well, thank God. I’ve been on the edge of my seat awaiting your approval.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Awfully sarcastic for a man who needs my help finding a broker.”

“A broker?”

“New York’s word for a real estate agent,” Violet explained. “And you definitely need one.”

She pulled out her phone. “I know someone. I’ll set something up for next weekend, maybe—”

“Today. I want to find a place today.”

“And I want hair and skin like Jennifer Aniston,” Violet said, her attention on her phone. “We all have our delusional pipe dreams.”

“I’m serious. Have them set it up. Today. Please,” he added a bit gruffly.

She looked up in surprise at the unexpected politeness that sounded a bit like a plea. “I’ll see what I can do. If,” she added, “you put on a shirt.”

“Deal,” he said, surprisingly affable as he set his mug behind him on the counter. “Are there specific instructions on what I should wear, or am I allowed to choose?”

She looked up. “Okay, I know that’s sarcastic, but if you think I won’t jump at the chance to pick out an outfit for you…”

He winced at the word outfit as she’d known he would and retreated upstairs before she could make good on her threat.

A few minutes later, he came back down, both arms lifted as he pulled his hair into the usual knot at the back of his head.

She tilted her head and studied him. “Have you scheduled a haircut yet?”

“No.”

“Do you want me to schedule one?”

“No.”

“Fine,” she said with a shrug, since she was rapidly learning to pick her battles with the man. And, his long hair was growing on her. “Does Edith know you’re moving?”

He said nothing.

“You should have told her about selling Adam’s stuff,” Violet said gently. “He was her son. There may have been things she wanted.”

He picked up the coffeepot and disposed of the used grounds. “What makes you think I didn’t tell her?”

Because you’re generally an ass when Edith’s name comes up.

“Any update from the broker?” he asked, jerking his chin toward her phone before Violet could press the Edith matter further.

“Yes, but only because Kimberly is doing me a personal favor, so if you’ve got any charm stored away beneath all the crust, now would be a good time to go digging for it.”

The corner of his mouth tilted up in a semi-smile. “Crust, huh?”

“Oh, sorry. Brooding. Anyway, we’ve got an appointment for a place in Meatpacking in an hour and a half. It’s the soonest Kimberly could get us in.”

“Fine. You eat breakfast?”

“Yes.”

“Yogurt?”

“Yes.”

“Doesn’t count. Let’s get real breakfast.” He walked to a pile of coats draped over a stack of moving boxes. Violet watched his hand reach for his old leather bomber, then hesitate. He grabbed the wool coat instead. For the life of her, Violet couldn’t figure out if she was pleased or bothered by the fact that he’d chosen the Manhattanesque style over his usual.

“I’m not going back to that diner,” she said.

“Why not?” He pulled on the coat. “You liked the diner.”

“I did not.”

“You did so.”

She scratched her nose in irritation. He was correct. “Fine. Let’s go to the diner.”

To rob him of the opportunity to gloat, Violet purposely did not look at him as she marched toward the front door.

He grabbed her hand as she passed, pulling her to a halt, then abruptly released her as though the contact unnerved him.

“Hey.” He cleared his throat and didn’t quite meet her eyes. “Thank you.”

“For?”

“Helping me. I haven’t exactly been great to you.”

Violet could only stare at him. “Seriously? You haven’t exactly been great to me? That doesn’t even begin to summarize what you’ve been.”

“And yet, you’re here,” he murmured, his dark gaze dropping to her mouth, lingering just a bit too long. “Awful as I am, you keep coming back. I wonder why that is.”

Violet swallowed, the sound audible. “Because Edith asked. Of course.”

“Of course,” he repeated, his brown eyes lifting to hers.

She could tell he didn’t believe it was the whole truth.