The silence stretched. “I don’t know if it ever goes away.”
The pain in his eyes reminded her of his wife. What had she been thinking? What was wrong with her? She needed to shake this funk. “I’m sorry.” She put her hand on his. “I didn’t mean to remind you—”
“It’s okay. I’m used to it.”
“You get used to it, really?” His skin was warm under her palm. It felt good to touch him, too good. She pulled her hand away and he let her, though he watched her movements.
Their gazes met. His eyes were a bright, rich blue, a contrast to his dark hair. What was he thinking? About his wife? About his son? About the book that he’d yet to open? About her?
“I really should get home.” She stood and hastily gathered her things. “Tomorrow’s an early day.”
“Yeah. I should get going, too. Early class, as well.”
“Class?”
He shoved the still-unopened book into the backpack. “I teach at the university.”
“I didn’t realize I was with a fellow educator.” She liked knowing she had that connection with him. “What subject?”
“History. Military history, specifically.”
“Really?” Why did that surprise her? Then she remembered the book he’d been reading. “So, the book—” she tilted her head toward the backpack “—that’s for class?”
He shouldered the pack. “I don’t know yet. Maybe later. Right now, it’s...personal.”
They headed toward the door, and she expected him to turn in the opposite direction. Instead, he fell into step beside her. “Do you live this way?”
“Uh, yeah.” He stopped and, with a self-deprecating smile, gestured for her to precede him down the walk. “I guess we’re headed the same way. You don’t mind, do you?”
“No. I—” What were the odds? It was a small community, one of the carefully planned midcentury communities. Both from small towns, her parents had specifically chosen to live and raise their family here for that reason.
“What made you decide to move here?” she asked before she had time to think and stop herself.
“Actually, it was Ryan’s idea.” He walked on the outside of the sidewalk and didn’t speak again until they’d reached the corner. “After Carolyn’s death, both of us needed a change. We wanted out of Chicago.”
“Is that where you were raised?”
“Yeah.” This time he tilted his head and looked at her, smiling. “You ask a lot of questions.”
“Occupational hazard. Sorry.” She felt her cheeks warm again. “You don’t have to answer.”
“No, it’s no problem. Yeah, I grew up in Chicago. We lived in an apartment on Lake Shore Drive.”
“Not in a house?” Why did that seem so strange to her? She thought of the big house where she’d lived with her family, and the big ranch where Wyatt now lived that had belonged to her grandparents. An apartment would have been so strange.
“Dad was gone most of the time.” He said that through clenched teeth. “So, Mom was a single parent in reality. It was just me and my sister. An apartment made more sense.” He shrugged again, and his eyes grew distant.
What was he seeing inside his mind? She wanted to ask, but refrained from uttering another question.
The sun was setting, and the shadows reached out. At the next corner, they both turned left. “Go ahead. I know you want to ask.”
This time she laughed. “Am I that easy to read?”
“Yes, and no. Remember, I’m a teacher, too. It’s in our nature to see the ones who want to ask but won’t.”
“True. Okay, so why was your dad gone so much? What did he do?”
“I’m not totally sure.” He kept walking for a good half a block. “He was career military, and even after his official retirement, he still contracts with them.”
“That must have been rough.”
“We weren’t used to him being around.” He shrugged. “When he came home, it was worse than when he was gone.” Again, he looked at the horizon—watching the clouds? Or his memories?
“I’d have loved to have more time with my dad,” she whispered.
“I’m sorry. Tonight wasn’t very upbeat.” Marcus rubbed the back of his neck in a nervous gesture. He lifted the shoulder that had the backpack on it. “I think this book is influencing my mood.”
They’d reached her house, and she paused at the end of her walk, just outside the white picket fence that had attracted her to the house in the first place. “This is it.” She waved at the house, then faced him. “It was a lovely evening. Really.” She meant it. He seemed honest and sincere. She liked that. She hadn’t found those qualities in many of the men she’d met in the past few years. “Thank you for sharing with me.” She paused, then grinned at him. “And for walking me home. I don’t think anyone’s done that since I was, like, fourteen.”
He laughed, a deep, heavy sound that warmed her from the inside out. “And I’ll bet your dad, or one of those brothers, stood at the door making sure nothing went on, too.”
“Yeah.” She smiled at him. “My brother Wyatt.”
“You’re welcome.” He stood there, not moving for a long minute. Finally, he stepped back. “I’m just a couple blocks over. Have a great night, Addie.”
“You, too.” She wanted to say more. Wanted to know a whole lot more about him. The silence stretched out, awkward all of a sudden, full of expectation, until he resumed walking.
She watched until he reached the corner. He turned to wave before making that last turn. He was heading toward the street Mom used to live on. She couldn’t remember which of the houses, other than Mom’s, had been for sale recently. Of course, she hadn’t gone over there much.
Maybe that needed to change.
* * *
HIS HOUSE WAS dark when Marcus finally reached it. He’d have rather gone into Addie’s house, where he saw a light, inviting and warm, just inside that big front window. He made a mental note to leave a light on next time.
Next time? Next time he went to the coffee shop in the evening, he told himself. Nothing more than that.
Her house was similar to this one—the hazards of a planned development. Somehow, though, he liked it. For an instant, he pictured her. Moving around, locking the doors, checking the windows, closing everything up for the night.
Did she have a dog or a cat that’d run to greet her? Or was her house silent, like this one?
Shaking his head, he tried to cast thoughts of Addie out of his mind, but it wasn’t easy. Her comments, gestures and expressions were too strong. Despite his attraction to her, he couldn’t be interested in a relationship with anyone. Not now. Maybe never.
He had enough to worry about. Walking through the big house, he headed to the kitchen. He’d thought to grab a sandwich at the coffee shop, but hadn’t felt hungry. Nothing had looked good, so he’d settled for just the coffee. Now, surprisingly, he was hungry.
Tossing his backpack onto the kitchen table—covered with dozens of books—he headed to the counter. He hadn’t expected this room to become his makeshift office, but something about it drew him, made him feel comfortable.
A jar of peanut butter sat on the counter, right next