No in Between (Inside Out #4)(22)

I tug my hand away and step backward. “Did you meet with Chris?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“And?”

“And I’ll let him tell you.”

I sigh. “Of course. Why would you tell me, since you’re standing right here? But okay.”

He looks amused, I think.

“In case he forgot to mention it,” I say, “you’ve rehired me. Well, technically Crystal did, and before you get upset with her, she did it because she cares about you.”

“I’m not even going to ask how you presume to know what Ms. Smith feels, since you barely know her.”

“She told me.”

He just stares at me. “Is that how you know Chris cares about you, Ms. McMillan? He tells you?”

I’m not sure what he’s implying, but I’m pretty sure it’s a slap to Chris, and I don’t like it. “Show and tell, Mark. It’s a good combination.”

Something dark flickers in his eyes, gone in a blink, but his probing questions are not. “How exactly does he show you?”

My lips purse. “In my book, privacy is like a great pair of high heels. To be cherished.”

“Good answer, Ms. McMillan. I’m sure Chris would approve. It means he can trust you, and trust is not an easy thing to give or receive.”

Is his remark about Rebecca? Or Ava? Maybe Ryan? Or perhaps it’s deeper. Perhaps it’s about what made him who he is today, the way Amber is a part of what made Chris who he is today.

“Mark—”

But his eyes shut, and he inhales deeply, emotions he rarely allows anyone to see rippling over his face. He abruptly turns and exits the office, leaving me staring after him. Then the song playing on my phone insinuates itself into my ears. Say something, I’m giving up on you. Say something, I’m giving up on you. I’ll be the one if you want me to . . .

“Say Something” by A Great Big World is always haunting, but gut-wrenchingly so tied to the months of silence from Rebecca. I can only imagine how much Mark must crave the sound of her voice, how much hope he must hang on to the possibility she might still return. How much he must wish he could tell her what he never dared—that he loved her.

Shutting off the radio, I go down the hall toward Mark’s office. His hands are against the wall, his head tilted forward, tension tightening his body. This isn’t the controlled man I know. This is the man I saw falling apart that night under the tree, after Ava confessed to murdering Rebecca.

I want to go to him, but my gut says he doesn’t want me to see him like this. I’m backing away when he says, “Is there something you need, Ms. McMillan?”

“Just . . . goodnight.”

I don’t move. I need to say or do something to help him.

“Go home, Ms. McMillan,” he snaps.

Sighing in defeat, I turn and leave him alone, but it’s not easy. Not when I know how badly being alone hurts.

? ? ?

As I wait for Jacob to arrive to escort me out, Chris calls and asks me to meet him and David at the pizza joint next to our apartment building. I arrive home fifteen minutes later and hand the 911 off to the attendant. I wave at Jacob, who’d followed me over here, and head toward the restaurant. I know it has great takeout, but I’ve never been inside.

Turns out it’s far more Italian eatery than pizzeria, with dim lighting, soft music, and cozy booths beyond the hostess stand. A tall, husky man with brown hair streaked with gray greets me with an extended hand. “You must be Sara.”

I tentatively shake hands. “Yes, I’m Sara. And you’re . . . psychic?”

He chuckles low and deep. “Wouldn’t that come in handy? But no. Chris described you with artistic detail, and you’re as beautiful as he said. I’m Marco, the owner here.”

I blush. “Thank you. I remember Chris talking about you. Don’t you own a chopper shop, too?”

“Custom choppers, motorcycle repair, you name it. Chris and I tinker on his Harleys occasionally.” He winks. “Nice to see he’s no longer a lone rider.” I smile, warmed as always by the way Chris is genuinely liked by so many.

Marco motions to my coat. “Let me take that for you.” I shrug out of my trench coat and hand it over, then with a grand gesture he waves us forward. “Come, I’ll show you to your table.”

I follow him around a corner where there’s a row of six booths several steps above the floor, all draped with curtains for privacy. “I love this setup,” I murmur. He smiles his pleasure at the compliment, and then pulls one of the curtains back to reveal Chris and David, each with a beer in hand. Chris’s eyes light on me, and the heat and tenderness in his gaze makes the craziness of the day fade away for a moment.

Setting his beer down, Chris draws my hand into his. The heat of his stare and the sizzle of his touch send a wave of warmth up my arm and over my chest, and the tension in my spine finally relaxes.

As I slide in next to Chris, he lifts his chin at Marco. “I see you met Sara.”

Marco winks at me and then answers Chris in what I think is Italian. I really can’t be certain of much when Chris’s fingers are lazily caressing my thigh, sending darts of electricity straight to my sex.

Chris smiles, answering Marco in English. “You’re right, Marco.” His hand discreetly slides under the tablecloth, beneath my skirt, his warm fingers flexing against my bare thigh. “Sara is beautiful and save your Italian Don Juan routine for someone else. She’s mine.”