5
Now
Chicago, December 23, 2011
THOUGH HE KNEW Stella had the checks for the subcontractors ready, Ross was hoping it would take a while for her to find Lucy’s. While there were still people in the building, it would be far too easy for her to slip away. The longer it took, the better the chances were that she wouldn’t be able to avoid him on her way out.
Yet somehow, she nearly pulled it off. He didn’t even realize she was leaving until he spotted a thick head of dark hair—topped by a merry green, feathered elf cap—getting onto the elevator. “Damn it,” he muttered.
“What?”
Seeing the surprised expression on the face of one of his project managers, who’d stopped to chat after Mr. Whitaker departed, Ross mumbled, “I’m sorry, I just remembered something I forgot to take care of.”
Like getting Lucy’s address, phone number and her promise to get together very soon so they could talk. Exactly what they’d talk about, he didn’t know. Six years seemed like a long time for a how’ve-you-been type of conversation. So maybe they’d skip how’ve-you-beens in favor of what-happens-now?
Then he remembered that Stella had hired Lucy. She had to know how to get in touch with her. Plus, Lucy had mentioned she lived here, worked here—it shouldn’t be hard to find her online.
So, yes, he could be reasonable and mature and patient about this. Could wait until after the holidays, then call her sometime in January to say hello and see if she’d like to meet.
But something—maybe the look in her eyes when she’d said he would know what she’d been up to if he’d called during the past six years—wouldn’t let him wait. He couldn’t have said it in front of anyone at the party; wasn’t sure he’d have found the words even if they’d been left alone. Still, Lucy deserved an explanation from him. Even if she thought it a lame one and decided to keep hating him, he’d feel better if he offered it.
Then he’d get to work on making her not hate him anymore.
“Thanks for the party, Mr. Marshall,” his employee said. “The kids really loved it.”
“I’m glad. Hey, you and your family have a great holiday,” Ross replied, already stepping toward the enclosed stairs that were intended for emergencies.
This was one. The elevator could have made a few stops on the way to the lobby—there were still employees on other floors, closing down for the holiday break. If he hustled, he might beat her to the bottom.
He might not be slinging a hammer and doing hard physical labor ten hours a day anymore, but Ross did keep himself busy in his off hours. So the dash down six flights of stairs didn’t really wind him. By the time he burst through the doors into the tiled lobby of the building—surprising Chip, the elderly security guard—the elevator door was just sliding open, and several people exited, some carrying boxes, bags of gifts, plates of food, files to work on at home.
One carried nothing, but wore a silly hat.
Lucy saw him and her mouth dropped. “How did you…?”
“Staircase,” he told her. “Were you really going to leave without saying goodbye?”
“Did you really stalk me down six flights of stairs?”
He rolled his eyes. “Stalking? That’s a little dramatic.”
“You’re breathing hard and sweating,” she accused him, stepping close and frowning. “Don’t even try to tell me you didn’t run every step of the way.”
He couldn’t contain a small grin. “Busted.”
“The question is, why?”
“Here’s a better one. Why’d you leave without saying goodbye?”
“We said our goodbyes a long time ago,” she retorted.
He whistled.
“What?”
“You’re still really mad at me.”
Those slim shoulders straightened and her chin went up. “That’s ridiculous.”
Lucy was obviously trying for a withering look, but with that silly hat and the droopy feather hanging by her cheek, she only managed freaking adorable. He couldn’t resist lifting a hand and nudging the feather back into place, his fingertips brushing against the soft skin of her cheek.
She flinched as if touched with a hot iron. “Don’t.”
“Jesus, Lucy, do you hate me?” he whispered, realizing for the first time that this might not be mere bravado. Was it possible that over the past six years, while he’d been feeling miserable even as he congratulated himself on doing the right—the mature—thing, she’d been hating his guts?
“Of course I don’t hate you,” she said, sounding huffy. As if she was telling the truth, but wasn’t exactly happy about that fact.
So she wanted to hate him?
“Can we please go sit down somewhere and have a cup of coffee?”
A wistful expression crossed her face, as if she, too, were remembering their first meeting in that New York coffee shop.
“I can’t,” she murmured. “I need to get to the bank before it closes, and before the snow starts.”
“I’ll walk with you.”
“I’m driving.”
“I’ll ride with you.”
She huffed. “You’re still persistent, aren’t you?”
“Only when it’s important.”
“And when did I become important to you?”
The day we met. He didn’t say the words, but he suspected she saw them in his face.
“Look, Ross, I swear, I am not holding a grudge,” she said. “So you don’t have to go out of your way to try to make up with me.”
“That’s not what I’m doing. I just…I’ve missed you. A lot.”
“How can you miss someone you knew for only a weekend, years ago?”
“Are you telling me you don’t feel the same way?”
If she said she didn’t, he’d make himself believe her. He’d let her go. Chalk this up to one of those life lessons where a memory of a time you’d considered perfect turned out to be something less than that to the one you’d shared it with.
Lucy didn’t respond at first. Not wanting her to breeze over this, to reply without thought, Ross lifted a hand. A few strands of her silky, dark hair had fallen against her face. He slid his fingers through it, sending heat all the way up his arm. Her eyes drifted closed, the long
