motioned her inside. “If you want to warm up a bit before you dash back out there, I have a fresh pot of coffee brewing.”
Having coffee with Alan—in his apartment, no less—wasn’t a good idea. Coming here had been a bad idea. Still, she looked around with interest. “No, I’ll just pick up whatever you want Brian to look at, then I’ll be going.”
Alan’s condo was a showplace. The same rich carpeting from the hall covered the living room. A navy leather couch and huge recliner were arranged across from a high-tech entertainment center, plasma screen TV, stereo system, CD player. Other electronic gadgets sat on the shelves—an iPod and an Xbox, along with a rack of CDs. The buttered plaster walls were devoid of art. She could see into the dining room with its shiny mahogany table that looked as if it had never been used. Alan might stay here when he was in Portland, but he didn’t really live here. It was too uncluttered, too clean, too polished.
He went to the library table along one wall and picked up a cardboard tube. Handing it to her, he asked, “What’s the real reason you wanted to pick these up?”
His perception amazed her. She’d found most men accepted simple explanations and didn’t look much deeper. But she was discovering that Alan wasn’t like most men.
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