some level. I don’t know which, not yet. Your work isn’t a career, it’s a vocation. Cab-driving bartender,” he said. “I know how to listen, too.”
“Yes, indeed. That’s quite a bit, on both sides, for one drink.”
He rose when she did. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
“It’ll be a hike. It’s in the shop. I’m catching a CAT.”
“Jeez. I’ll drive you. Don’t be stupid, ’cause you’re not.” He took her arm with one hand, signaled a goodbye to the bar with the other on the way to the door.
“You’re the second man who’s offered me a ride tonight.”
“Oh yeah?”
“The first involved hopping onto the handlebars of his bike. As I told him, I don’t mind the bus.”
“Take you just as long to walk to the bus stop as it will for us to walk to the lot down here. And I can promise you a smoother ride home.” He glanced down at her. “Nice night for a drive.”
“I’m only up on Jones.”
“One of my favorite streets in the city.” He strolled now, sliding his hand down her arm to link it with hers. “So’s this one.”
And here she was after all, Phoebe thought, half of a couple wandering on River Street, hand in hand. His was warm, the palm hard and wide. The sort of hand, she imagined, that could wrench the top off a pickle jar, catch a fly ball or cup a woman’s breast with equal ease.
His legs were long, his stride loose and lazy. A man, Phoebe judged, who knew how to take his time when he wanted to.
“Nice night for a walk, too, especially along the river,” he commented.
“I have to get home.”
“So you said. Not cold, are you?”
“No.”
He walked into the lot, hailing the attendant. “How you doing there, Lester?”
“Doing what comes, boss. Evening, ma’am.”
A bill passed from hand to hand so smoothly Phoebe nearly missed it. Then she was standing, staring at a gleaming white Porsche.
“No handlebars.” Duncan shrugged, grinned, then opened the door for her.
“I’m forced to admit this will be better than the bus—or Johnnie Porter’s Schwinn.”
“You like cars?”
“If you’d asked me that a couple hours ago, I’d have given you several reasons why cars and I are on nonspeaking terms currently.” She brushed a hand over the side of the buttery leather seat. “But I like this one just fine.”
“Me, too.”
He didn’t drive like a maniac, which she’d half-expected, and had to admit had half-hoped. He did drive, however, like a man who knew the city the way she knew her own bedroom—every nook and cranny.
She gave him the address and let herself enjoy the sort of ride she’d never imagined experiencing. When he pulled up in front of her house, she let out a long sigh. “Very nice. Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” He got out, skirting the hood to take her hand again on the sidewalk. “Great house.”
“It is, yes.” There it was, she thought, rosy brick, white trim, tall windows, graceful terraces.
Hers, whether she liked it or not.
“Family home, family duty. Long story.”
“Why don’t you tell me about it over dinner tomorrow night?”
Something in her actively yearned when she turned toward him. “Oh, Duncan, you’re awfully cute, and you’re rich, and you’ve got a very sexy car. I’m just not in a position to start a relationship.”
“Are you in a position to eat dinner?”
She laughed, shook her head as he walked with her up to the parlor level. “Several nights a week, depending.”
“You’re a public servant. I’m the public. Have dinner with me tomorrow night. Or pick another activity, another day. I’ll work around it.”
“I have a date with my daughter tomorrow night. Saturday, dinner, as long as it’s understood this can’t go anywhere.”
“Saturday.”
He leaned in. It was smooth, but she saw the move. Still, it felt fussy and foolish to stop it. So she let his lips brush over hers. Sweet, she thought.
Then his hands ran down from her shoulders to her wrists, his mouth
“Yes, indeed. That’s quite a bit, on both sides, for one drink.”
He rose when she did. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
“It’ll be a hike. It’s in the shop. I’m catching a CAT.”
“Jeez. I’ll drive you. Don’t be stupid, ’cause you’re not.” He took her arm with one hand, signaled a goodbye to the bar with the other on the way to the door.
“You’re the second man who’s offered me a ride tonight.”
“Oh yeah?”
“The first involved hopping onto the handlebars of his bike. As I told him, I don’t mind the bus.”
“Take you just as long to walk to the bus stop as it will for us to walk to the lot down here. And I can promise you a smoother ride home.” He glanced down at her. “Nice night for a drive.”
“I’m only up on Jones.”
“One of my favorite streets in the city.” He strolled now, sliding his hand down her arm to link it with hers. “So’s this one.”
And here she was after all, Phoebe thought, half of a couple wandering on River Street, hand in hand. His was warm, the palm hard and wide. The sort of hand, she imagined, that could wrench the top off a pickle jar, catch a fly ball or cup a woman’s breast with equal ease.
His legs were long, his stride loose and lazy. A man, Phoebe judged, who knew how to take his time when he wanted to.
“Nice night for a walk, too, especially along the river,” he commented.
“I have to get home.”
“So you said. Not cold, are you?”
“No.”
He walked into the lot, hailing the attendant. “How you doing there, Lester?”
“Doing what comes, boss. Evening, ma’am.”
A bill passed from hand to hand so smoothly Phoebe nearly missed it. Then she was standing, staring at a gleaming white Porsche.
“No handlebars.” Duncan shrugged, grinned, then opened the door for her.
“I’m forced to admit this will be better than the bus—or Johnnie Porter’s Schwinn.”
“You like cars?”
“If you’d asked me that a couple hours ago, I’d have given you several reasons why cars and I are on nonspeaking terms currently.” She brushed a hand over the side of the buttery leather seat. “But I like this one just fine.”
“Me, too.”
He didn’t drive like a maniac, which she’d half-expected, and had to admit had half-hoped. He did drive, however, like a man who knew the city the way she knew her own bedroom—every nook and cranny.
She gave him the address and let herself enjoy the sort of ride she’d never imagined experiencing. When he pulled up in front of her house, she let out a long sigh. “Very nice. Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” He got out, skirting the hood to take her hand again on the sidewalk. “Great house.”
“It is, yes.” There it was, she thought, rosy brick, white trim, tall windows, graceful terraces.
Hers, whether she liked it or not.
“Family home, family duty. Long story.”
“Why don’t you tell me about it over dinner tomorrow night?”
Something in her actively yearned when she turned toward him. “Oh, Duncan, you’re awfully cute, and you’re rich, and you’ve got a very sexy car. I’m just not in a position to start a relationship.”
“Are you in a position to eat dinner?”
She laughed, shook her head as he walked with her up to the parlor level. “Several nights a week, depending.”
“You’re a public servant. I’m the public. Have dinner with me tomorrow night. Or pick another activity, another day. I’ll work around it.”
“I have a date with my daughter tomorrow night. Saturday, dinner, as long as it’s understood this can’t go anywhere.”
“Saturday.”
He leaned in. It was smooth, but she saw the move. Still, it felt fussy and foolish to stop it. So she let his lips brush over hers. Sweet, she thought.
Then his hands ran down from her shoulders to her wrists, his mouth
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