Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 128488 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 514(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128488 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 514(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
“André Baudelaire,” Evan read after flipping a page back. Noelle found the place where her father had written the name, followed by a phone number. Evan picked up his phone from the bed and quickly did a search as Noelle took another sip of her drink. “Purveyor of antiques, collectibles, and fine jewelry,” Evan read. “He’s still in business. His shop is in MidTown.”
“What would my father have been doing at an antique shop?” Noelle mused aloud.
“Not a collector?”
She let out a mostly humorless laugh. “Did you see what was in his storage container? Not even close.”
“Selling something?”
She chewed at the inside of her cheek briefly. “Anything he had of any value he sold after my mom died.” She didn’t have to tell him why. He already knew. Even the gorgeous antique ring that had once belonged to her mother’s grandmother was gone. It’d been sold to pay for the lawyer’s fees that came from suing Evan’s father for wrongful death. And losing.
“Well, we can stop in to see Mr. Baudelaire tomorrow, too, if you’re game.”
She turned the page of her father’s calendar, her chest constricting as the pages grew empty. She sighed, shut it, and placed it aside as she picked up her drink and drained the last of it. Something about those last few weeks was . . . off. Maybe it was part feeling, but it was also that he’d seemed to be meeting with people he didn’t ordinarily meet with. So . . . yes. “I’m game,” she confirmed.
She set her glass down and lay back on the bed. Evan did the same, falling next to her, their feet on the floor as they stared at the ceiling. She didn’t look at him, but she felt his warmth. It was a little odd to be with him in a hotel room. Not only because she’d never imagined any circumstances where she would be, but also because the last time they were in one together . . . they’d made Callie.
A different kind of warmth spread through her, brought on by the alcohol, she figured. But also because of him. She turned her head to find he was already staring at her. “Oh,” she said. “Hi.” Then she giggled, and it sounded so unlike her that she giggled again. He was smiling, too, and as their gazes caught, they both went serious.
“Hi,” he said.
She turned away first, biting her lip. Not a good idea. She was still attracted to him. But she’d felt that physical attraction in South Carolina, too, and sort of taken it in stride. Who wouldn’t be attracted to Evan Sinclair? Plus, it’d been a long, long time since she’d been with a man. She was probably just a little buzzed and a lot desperate. She nearly giggled again but swallowed it down. What she hadn’t expected was the yearning that was solely for him. Evan. That deep-down emptiness that somehow still carried his name. She’d felt it blossom to life almost the moment she’d laid eyes on him again. Worse still, she saw something similar in his eyes too. This time, however, it felt less . . . grasping, she supposed was a good enough word. Less all encompassing. Less dysfunctional. Which was good. But that had been achieved over long years and much distance. They couldn’t go back and do something that would make it hard to separate again.
Hard to parent Callie and work out some schedule that they were both satisfied with.
“God, I think I’m getting drunk,” she said, rubbing her temple and sitting up.
“Lightweight.” He pulled himself up too.
“Guilty.” She laughed.
Evan stood, obviously reading correctly that she needed some space. “I should go. How about I pick you up for breakfast tomorrow at nine, and we’ll head to the antique dealer? See if he remembers anything?”
“Sure. That sounds good.” As unlikely as that was. It’d been almost a decade. Who knew if her father had dealt with a person who was still employed there, or still alive, for that matter. And if he or she was, how slim a chance was it that they’d remember someone who came to the shop so long ago?
She walked Evan to the door and pulled it open. “Thanks for coming with me to the storage place,” she said. “I appreciated that.”
“I’m the one who’s grateful you’re here,” he said. “Thank you, Noelle.”
She nodded, giving him a small smile. “See you in the morning.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
The next morning, Evan pulled on his seat belt and then allowed his eyes to linger as Noelle was focused on belting herself in too. She was so casually beautiful in jeans and a navy tank top, hair in a loose braid, little makeup. And all he could think as he looked at her was that he itched to take her back up to the hotel room and spend a few hours in bed. God help him; he didn’t want to want that, but he did. She was sexy as hell to him, which was sort of an epiphany. He’d half convinced himself that those feelings were all mired in that unhealthy bond Professor Vitucci had talked about, and so to find that he still felt that intensity, minus any current trauma, sent him for a loop. But he shut that thought down. There was no way Noelle would participate in some brief affair, and truth be told, the thought of that left a bad taste in his mouth too. They shared a child. It would be foolhardy to complicate the amicable rapport they’d managed to find despite . . . everything. And that word encompassed a whole hell of a lot.