longing, such intense yearning, his heart expanded hard against his sternum.
He lifted his gaze to meet hers in the mirror. Her eyes widened, then looked away as Tim and Costanzo strode out of the building’s lobby, toward the truck. Tim turned his head to look in Thea’s direction, and in that instant his big body took up the whole mirror. When he cleared the mirror’s range, Thea was gone, just another anonymous black cap bobbing along in the foot traffic.
Ronan went back to his paperwork. “Elderly female safely tucked away in her apartment?” he asked without looking up.
Tim grinned. “She was eighty-seven on her last birthday. Three kids, seven grandkids, two great-grandkids and another on the way. Husband died in ninety-seven. Lived in the apartment since fifty-eight. Rent-controlled.”
“Paper or plastic?”
“We only had eight flights. She had time to tell me I should find a nice girl and settle down, though,” Tim said, then turned to look over his shoulder at the spot where Thea had stood, his thought process clear on his face. Classic rescuer’s complex.
“Don’t say it,” Ronan said, and closed the laptop lid.
Tim didn’t flip him shit, a sure sign this worried him, but all he said was, “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
“Yes.” The longer this lasted, the deeper he got into complicated Thea Moretti, the more he knew this was the right thing to do. People who lived in the humdrum middle range of life didn’t experience intense highs and lows. A woman who cut off feeling that thoroughly had to have a forest fire of life inside. He just had to find a way to cut through the noise and chatter to the long-buried soul inside.
“I lost my scarf again, goddammit,” Ronan said absently.
Tim let out a belly laugh and shoved off for the bus; Ronan closed the passenger door, then the truck driver climbed inside, cut the lights and pulled into traffic behind the ambulance. As they made the block and headed back down Third Avenue, snippets of conversation and images from their last night together flashed in his brain in random order. Her face, fierce and demanding against the Midtown skyline. The smile when she landed the jump on the rink. The Thanksgiving Day parade, and the Macy’s windows.
The Macy’s windows. Most of the big department stores decorated their windows with elaborate, creative holiday displays. Lights, music and fashion were now a city tradition, and the stores had to put up velvet ropes to channel the gawkers next to the windows and allow uninterested pedestrians to hurry by. Thea said she used to watch the parade and dream of coming to see the windows.
He wasn’t vain enough to assume the longing in her eyes was for him, but it was there, and that was enough. He’d give her a little slice of life, Manhattan-style, and hope for the rest. Given her attitude toward the holidays, doing something so traditionally Christmas-y might not go over well. But it was worth a shot, a reminder of what she missed, staying trapped in the darkness.
Chapter Four
December 17th
Ronan waited outside Thea’s office building in the peculiar Manhattan winter night, brightly illuminated enough to read by yet still pressing dark and bitterly cold. He wore a watchcap, his peacoat, yet another scarf purchased from the same vendor as the last one, and had his gloved hands shoved deep in his pockets. The wind slapped with icy palms, so he was glad to see her sensible wool slacks between a down coat that stopped below her calves and boots.
She walked over to him, her fur-trimmed hood framing her pale face. “Does your unexpected appearance mean you have another winter outing in mind?” she asked.
He hadn’t texted this time either, not wanting to give her a chance to talk herself out of what he had in mind. He studied her for a moment, trying to get a read on her. “I thought we’d go look at the Macy’s windows. Maybe wander back to Fifth Avenue to see what Saks did this
He lifted his gaze to meet hers in the mirror. Her eyes widened, then looked away as Tim and Costanzo strode out of the building’s lobby, toward the truck. Tim turned his head to look in Thea’s direction, and in that instant his big body took up the whole mirror. When he cleared the mirror’s range, Thea was gone, just another anonymous black cap bobbing along in the foot traffic.
Ronan went back to his paperwork. “Elderly female safely tucked away in her apartment?” he asked without looking up.
Tim grinned. “She was eighty-seven on her last birthday. Three kids, seven grandkids, two great-grandkids and another on the way. Husband died in ninety-seven. Lived in the apartment since fifty-eight. Rent-controlled.”
“Paper or plastic?”
“We only had eight flights. She had time to tell me I should find a nice girl and settle down, though,” Tim said, then turned to look over his shoulder at the spot where Thea had stood, his thought process clear on his face. Classic rescuer’s complex.
“Don’t say it,” Ronan said, and closed the laptop lid.
Tim didn’t flip him shit, a sure sign this worried him, but all he said was, “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
“Yes.” The longer this lasted, the deeper he got into complicated Thea Moretti, the more he knew this was the right thing to do. People who lived in the humdrum middle range of life didn’t experience intense highs and lows. A woman who cut off feeling that thoroughly had to have a forest fire of life inside. He just had to find a way to cut through the noise and chatter to the long-buried soul inside.
“I lost my scarf again, goddammit,” Ronan said absently.
Tim let out a belly laugh and shoved off for the bus; Ronan closed the passenger door, then the truck driver climbed inside, cut the lights and pulled into traffic behind the ambulance. As they made the block and headed back down Third Avenue, snippets of conversation and images from their last night together flashed in his brain in random order. Her face, fierce and demanding against the Midtown skyline. The smile when she landed the jump on the rink. The Thanksgiving Day parade, and the Macy’s windows.
The Macy’s windows. Most of the big department stores decorated their windows with elaborate, creative holiday displays. Lights, music and fashion were now a city tradition, and the stores had to put up velvet ropes to channel the gawkers next to the windows and allow uninterested pedestrians to hurry by. Thea said she used to watch the parade and dream of coming to see the windows.
He wasn’t vain enough to assume the longing in her eyes was for him, but it was there, and that was enough. He’d give her a little slice of life, Manhattan-style, and hope for the rest. Given her attitude toward the holidays, doing something so traditionally Christmas-y might not go over well. But it was worth a shot, a reminder of what she missed, staying trapped in the darkness.
Chapter Four
December 17th
Ronan waited outside Thea’s office building in the peculiar Manhattan winter night, brightly illuminated enough to read by yet still pressing dark and bitterly cold. He wore a watchcap, his peacoat, yet another scarf purchased from the same vendor as the last one, and had his gloved hands shoved deep in his pockets. The wind slapped with icy palms, so he was glad to see her sensible wool slacks between a down coat that stopped below her calves and boots.
She walked over to him, her fur-trimmed hood framing her pale face. “Does your unexpected appearance mean you have another winter outing in mind?” she asked.
He hadn’t texted this time either, not wanting to give her a chance to talk herself out of what he had in mind. He studied her for a moment, trying to get a read on her. “I thought we’d go look at the Macy’s windows. Maybe wander back to Fifth Avenue to see what Saks did this
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