Page 33 of The Perfect Secret

“Because you’re beautiful and strong and you know when to ask for help, even if you don’t think you want it.”

Okay, she would definitely scratch him off the list of things she didn’t want. “I don’t feel any of that right now,” she whispered. The tears she’d suppressed at the sound of his voice on the phone threatened once again, and she looked away. If she was forced to stare into those amazing lake-blue eyes one more second, hers would overflow, and she refused to turn into a puddle on the sidewalk.

His shadow on the pavement moved closer and the tips of his shoes touched hers. She would not turn into a puddle.

He stroked her arm, from shoulder to wrist. She wouldn’t look at him and she wouldn’t turn into a puddle.

“I used to do this to Tess when she was a little girl.” He leaned his cane against the building and brought her hand toward her center, walked his fingers up her stomach until they touched her chin, which he tipped until their gazes met. She wouldn’t turn…oh hell.

Tears ran down her face. He folded her against his body, wrapped her into a hug like a cocoon, and held her. What was she afraid of? For the first time since she walked over the threshold of her apartment and heard Jeff’s voice, she was home. He was warm and safe and smelled like spice, evoking images of being tucked in under a blanket on a cold, winter’s night,havdalahcandles flickering in the darkness. Everything slipped away—the car horns, multilingual conversations, and rumbling trucks—everything except him.

She swallowed and shifted against him. He pulled away half an inch to look at her.

“I made your sweater soggy,” she said.

“I know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.”

She bit her lip and he traced it with his fingertip.

“Come inside?” He grabbed his cane.

With a nod, she let him take her hand and lead her into the building. The lobby was nondescript—beiges and greys—and seemed the exact opposite of the man who held her hand. He was warm and alive and soft, yet strong.

“Come upstairs?”

His implicit understanding she might need to do this in stages touched her and she squeezed his hand as they walked to the elevator. When it arrived, he ushered her inside, hit 3, and leaned her against him, balancing his cane in the crook of his elbow. Her back touched his hard chest muscles as they rode three floors. His arms wrapped around her middle like a seatbelt, and she stroked the sinews and tendons in his arm through his sweater.

When they arrived on his floor, he stopped her before his door. “Tess is gone. I suggested she do her homework at her friend’s. I thought you’d be more comfortable that way.”

Hannah ran her hands over her hair and wiped her eyes. “No, I don’t want to banish Tess because I’m here. It’s her house; she’s free to move about as she wants.”

Dan stroked her cheek. “It’s okay. She was happy to go.” He opened the door.

“I don’t want to interfere between the two of you.”

Dan walked over to her and took her hand. “Tess will be fine.”

Hannah looked at him wide-eyed. Behind her, the elevator door opened. In front of her, Dan’s expression begged her to stay. With a sigh, she followed him to the kitchen.

“Would you like something to drink?”

She should be thirsty after all those tears, but she wasn’t. Wrapping her arms around her middle, she sighed and shook her head. Dan walked to her and took her in his arms. He wassolid and she let out a shaky sigh. He kissed her mouth with extreme gentleness before he pulled her away from him. “Go make yourself at home.”

The apartment was homey. Clearly, the kitchen was used by someone who liked to cook. Stainless appliances, black-marbled counter, and wine-colored walls, with enough space to prep and chop and whatever else one did in the kitchen. The pots she could see were good ones; there were ingredients stored on the counter—ones that were used, not placed there for decoration—and there were bowls of fruits and veggies. She shook her head. What did she expect—processed food boxes everywhere? The man said he cooked.

She walked down the picture-lined hallway into the living room. Right now, she wasn’t ready for a peek into Dan’s family life. She had enough difficulty handling her own. The living room’s floor-to-ceiling windows prevented it from looking like a cave. Deep blue walls, large leather sofas and chairs, and soft beige carpet.

Lots of bookshelves filled to capacity with books painted a picture of Dan and Tess’s life. On the bottom shelves were children’s books. As the shelves rose higher, there were young adult books, romances, and mysteries. It was obvious some of the books were Dan’s, such as several on photography and architecture. Others, like the romances, might have been left over from his wife. A few self-help books caught her eye and she was about to take a look at them when Dan cleared his throat.

“We’re big readers.”

“I can see. It’s nice.”

“Come sit down.” He led the way to the oversized sofa and eased onto it. He patted the seat next to him and she snuggled into him.