My One and Only(93)

His smile grew. “Okay, well, let’s talk about your law practice. You could pass the New York bar exam in a heartbeat, don’t you think? Or would you even have to, since you’re already practicing in another state?”

And sucker-punched again. I blinked. “The bar?”

Then Nick’s phone chimed gently. “This might be the nursing home,” he said, pulling his phone out. He glanced at it. “Nope. It’s just Pete.”

“Take it,” I replied without thinking.

“It can wait.”

“No. Go ahead. I could use a minute anyway.”

He hesitated, then stood up. “Okay. Be right back.” He went outside, and I watched through the window as he talked, then listened. He glanced at me, then spoke some more. Shook his head. Looked my way again, waved, kept talking.

The New York bar exam? That one came right out of left field. My knees were still buzzing with surprise. The electrical current that ran between Nick and me…it had always carried the danger of electrocution.

I took a shaky breath. The last time we were together, Nick had rushed ahead with a lot of plans. Get engaged, quick wedding. He’d found our apartment and signed the lease before I even saw the place, saying that to wait would’ve meant losing it. And of course, when we were married, it had been all about his plan, his schedule, his career.

This time…this time would have to be different. The last thing I wanted was to make the same mistake twice.

Nick came back to the table and sat back down. His knee started bouncing.

“Everything okay?” I asked.

“Sure. Everything’s great.” He hesitated. “You know the Drachen project?” I nodded. “The company’s CEO is in New York. Peter managed to pin him down for a late lunch.”

“Great,” I said.

“I won’t go,” Nick said. His knee continued to bounce. “Do you want to order?”

“Um…no.” I took another deep breath. “Nick. You should…you should go. To the lunch.”

“No,” he said quickly. “I’m with you today.”

“No, you should go. You really wanted this one. This is your chance.”

He didn’t answer.

“I’ll be fine,” I added. “Does the CEO come to the States that often?”

“No,” he acknowledged.

“So you should go!”

Nick just looked at me, his dark eyes assessing, and as ever, time seemed to stop. Except it didn’t—the clock above us chimed softly.

“I have a million emails to return,” I said, “and Nick, you know you want this deal. So go. Okay? I’ll see you back at your place.” I stood up, kissed his cheek and left.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

BACK AT NICK’S APARTMENT, I took Coco for a walk. She hated the noise, jumping back from the curb when a car passed, quivering at the sound of air brakes or the clatter of a jackhammer. I ended up carrying her most of the way. She could probably adjust, but it seemed rather cruel to ask that of her. She was used to the wind and sand and salt air. Not this.

When we got back, I checked my email, answered a few, then wandered around the apartment, feeling a little stir-crazy. Opened a cabinet here, a drawer there. There were a couple of framed pictures of Isabel. One of Nick, Christopher, Jason and Mr. Lowery. Another of him and Peter in front of a temple. Japan, maybe.

On his desk was a leather-bound day calendar. I flipped it open. Funny, that in this age of phones with every conceivable app from foot massages to ghost whispering, Nick kept a handwritten record of his appointments. There was last week…in his blocky architect’s handwriting, Nick had written C&W’s wedding. Later that week, Whalen U., School of Engineering.

This coming week, it appeared he’d be going to Dubai. Later in the month, Seattle. In October, Nick was scheduled to be in Houston, London and Seattle again.

Business was good.

I sat in his chair for a little while. Coco, sensing my melancholy, jumped into my lap and put her head on my shoulder. She seemed blue, too. The subway screeched from down the block, and my dog shivered in fear. “You’d think they’d have fixed those brakes by now, huh, Coco?” I asked, petting her sleek little back. From the floor below, I could hear the strains of bouncy music and some muffled voices—Ivan, watching the soaps.

Some things never changed, and I wasn’t just talking about Ivan’s taste in daytime television. Nick’s business was thriving; God knows, he worked hard enough and deserved every success. I wouldn’t want it any other way…and yet…and yet, things were feeling awfully familiar. He wanted me to move to New York, to fit my life in around his. Again. And the way he’d mentioned it, so flip and assured—You could pass the New York bar in a heartbeat. We didn’t even know what next week would look like, but he was already assuming I’d uproot everything and move back to his city.

And that whole thing with Chris…that didn’t bode well, either. Nick deliberately withheld something critically important from me. Not without reason—I could see his point about it being Christopher’s to share or not share—but still. It didn’t feel good. The way he’d had that meeting scheduled in Bismarck but hadn’t mentioned it, had made our trip feel completely spur-of-the-moment, while all the time, he’d had a plan and a schedule.