He started off toward the northeast corner of the park. After a few seconds of hesitation, she followed. If his left arm wasn’t immobilized, he’d have to work hard not to loop it around her back. She was devastated but holding it together admirably, which made Mason want to help her even more.
Rather than press her into conversation, he listened to the peaceful, lulling drone of the now-steady rain and the patter of Millie’s soaked paws as she scurried along in front of them, leading the way with the confidence of a dog who knew her home range well.
Mason wasn’t one to get cold easily, but he could feel the chill setting in. Beside him, the girl was walking with her arms folded over her chest, and her fingertips were turning blue.
“Just another two blocks.”
“Thanks,” she said, “for helping me.”
“You were doing a favor for me and someone stole your stuff. If I left you out in this rain to fend for yourself, that would group me with the worst of the worst.”
“Would you mind if I used your phone to call someone?”
“Not at all. But it’s up there. I’m on the top floor. So is Millie’s owner, Georges.” He pointed to the top floor of the six-story redbrick building that used to belong to a high-end fountain pen company that went out of business in the early ’80s. The building had been used off and on for storage until it was purchased by a real estate developer in 2005. That company had gone out of business in 2009, a year after the twice-postponed construction of twelve upscale lofts was supposed to begin. A new developer bought it after it sat empty for several years.
Mason had been the second person to buy into the twelve-unit development, just after Georges. Then he and Georges had bought the rest of the units and become co-owners of the building. Despite Georges’s many eccentricities and their many differences, they were also good friends.
They reached the entrance none too soon. When his fingerprint proved too wet to be read by the scanner that unlocked the lobby door, Mason entered the six-digit backup code. The red light over the panel switched to green and the magnet that held the door locked released.
Switching Millie’s leash to the hand of his slinged arm, he pulled the door open and nodded for her to go in.
She stepped back a foot. “Thanks, but I’ll stay out here.”
The concrete awning overhead that was a part of the swell underneath the second story windows kept most of the rain out of the building entryway but not all of it, and she was clearly freezing.
“In the rain? I get you’ve got no reason to trust me, but at least come in where it’s warm.” He motioned toward the furnished lobby that often felt like a waste of space. The twelve-unit building was too small for a doorman, and most of the residents came and went through the building’s basement garage. Aside from when one of the tenants was waiting for a ride to show up or a guest to arrive, hardly anyone used the lobby.
She bit at her lower lip and looked inside, then back at him. “I’m not trying to be rude. It’s just, you could be anybody and…” She shrugged helplessly. “I don’t even know your name.”
Her words resounded through his mind. He could be anybody. To her. Not the story, the sensation, he’d become. Anybody.
And somehow that mattered to him more than anything had in months.
He worked to keep his tone light. “I’m glad you brought it up. I was just thinking the same thing about you.”
She gave a light shake of her head, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion.
“I hear you,” he added. “You can’t be too careful nowadays. I mean, it’s possible this whole thing could be a ruse to get me to bring you upstairs where you plan to overpower me and plunder my loft and do who knows what else.”
A small laugh bubbled out of her. “Me? Overpower you?”
He shrugged with his good shoulder. “You look little but mighty.”
Her small laugh rolled into a larger one. “Okay. I’ll wait in the lobby.” She stepped in ahead of him, wiping her wet boots on the mat and keeping her arms closed over her chest. “I’m Tess.”
“Tess, huh? Nice name.” He stepped in behind her and Millie. The lobby felt particularly inviting thanks to the heat and the automatic lamps on the tables on either side of the couch.
Mason let the door close behind them. When the automatic lock snapped in place, her hesitant smile fell.
“Is it just Tess, or is that short for Theresa?”
“Contessa.” The single word seemed to be swallowed up by the empty room. “My family’s Italian.”
“Contessa,” he repeated, only this time the big, quiet room didn’t seem to swallow it. “But you prefer Tess.”
“Wouldn’t you?” She stepped tentatively off the rug and onto the marble floor left over from the old showroom that dated back to the late 1890s. The lobby had been renovated using as much of the showroom’s original features as possible. The rest of the building—the parts that hadn’t been seen by customers—was considerably less ornate.
“Oh, I don’t know,” he answered. “My name’s Mason, and it’s not short for anything except maybe mason jar. I come from a family of several generations of farmers, and they’re a little bit of everything except Italian.” He motioned toward the couch. “Make yourself comfortable. Only, you’re soaked, so I don’t know how that’s possible.”
She thanked him and headed for one of the two leather chairs.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes. I’ll bring you a towel and a dry jacket.” He coaxed Millie onto the elevator—some days, the finicky dog was more willing to jump over the metal floor trim than others. Today, she bounded over the divide with no persuasion.
As
