“So, you won’t tell Matt that we were here, will you?” Julia asked.
Courtney turned around. “We’re just neighbors,” she said. It came out sounding exactly like the line: We’re just friends. Damn.
“Of course you are, darling,” Pam said. “Which is why we need you to keep the surprise.”
“Surprise?”
They nodded in unison. “We’re doing something about his apartment.”
“Is there something wrong with it?”
Pam chuckled. “He went off to IKEA and bought furniture. Can you imagine?”
Yes, she could imagine. She had a couple of IKEA pieces at her place because Ethan Allen was out of her price range. She thought back to last night. But Ethan Allen wasn’t out of Matt’s price range, was it?
Warmth spilled through her. Matt was a lot of things, but he wasn’t a snob.
She gave Julia and Pam a smile. “No, I can’t even imagine,” she said, trying to keep a straight face.
“So we’ve measured the place and we’re going to redo it for him. You won’t tell, will you?”
She shook her head. “No,” she lied. “We hardly know each other. And my lips are sealed. You ladies have a nice afternoon.” She turned back toward her door and escaped as quickly as she could.
Should she text him with this news? Or should she wait until she saw him again? She decided to wait and spent the rest of the afternoon making lasagna and weeping over The Notebook, a movie she’d seen at least twenty times.
After the movie, she dined alfresco on the balcony as the June sun slipped low on the horizon. It was still humid and warm, but the balcony was shaded and had a ceiling fan that cooled and kept the mosquitoes at bay. She sipped some Chianti and started a John Grisham book she’d been meaning to read while Aramis pounced at her feet.
She could do this. She thrived on being alone.
She swallowed the lump in her throat as twilight settled in. Who was she kidding? She’d come out here on the balcony hoping to catch a glimpse of Matt when he returned from work. But here it was, almost 9:00 p.m., with no sight of him.
Where was he? Arwen said they were busy at work. Maybe she’d been telling the truth. But Courtney couldn’t shake the idea that he was probably out with some other woman. Maybe she wouldn’t tell him about his mother’s plan to redecorate his apartment.
She hated herself for thinking like that. She’d crossed the hall last night knowing how things would end. In fact, now that she thought about it, cats were the perfect pets for guys like Matt. Cats weren’t needy, and it didn’t take much to commit to a cat. She stared down at the adorable Aramis.
Of course, it didn’t take much to fall in love with one either.
“I’m hopeless,” she said to the kitten as she put down her book. The days were long this time of year, but at nine o’clock, the light had faded to a deep purple-blue. It was too dark to read on the balcony, so she stood up and started collecting her dinner dishes.
“But soft, what light through yonder window breaks?
It is the east and Juliet is the sun!”
The words floated up on the summer air from the sidewalk below in a voice that kissed her eardrums and wrapped around her chest like a warm, romantic hug. She leaned over the railing, and there he stood in the light of the streetlamp, wearing a wrinkled white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and his tie undone. He carried his suit jacket over his shoulder, and his unruly hair curled over his forehead, making him look vaguely Byronic.
Her pulse jumped. Never in her life had any man quoted Shakespeare to her. She wished she could remember Juliet’s comeback line. It was something about the moon being inconstant. Something about Romeo’s love being untrustworthy. But she couldn’t quote it directly.
So instead she said, “I bet you say that to all the girls.”
His mouth quirked on one side. “Busted.”
His response disappointed her on some level. But she knew damn well that normal, twenty-first-century guys didn’t quote poetry…ever. They talked about the Redskins and UVA football.
Only a Hook-up Artist quoted poetry. And this particular Hook-up Artist seemed to have a plethora of Shakespeare to fall back on. “So, what? Did you memorize a bunch of quotes in order to impress the ladies?”
“You’d be surprised how impressive it can be when you quote Elizabeth Barrett Browning or Emily Dickinson.” His deep espresso eyes danced with amusement. He was teasing her.
“Wow, you know more than Shakespeare?”
“I do, actually.”
“Really? Why do I not believe you?”
He let go of a long sigh. “Oh. So you want only the truth?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Okay, I’ll give you the truth but on one condition.”
He was such a player. She cocked her head. “And that is?”
“That you tell me the truth first.”
“What is this? A game of truth or dare?”
“No. Just honesty. Are you ready?”
She nodded.
“Okay, so…were you sitting out here waiting for me?”
She should have known this was coming. Thank goodness it was almost full dark. Otherwise he might have seen her blush. “Absolutely not. I was reading this John Grisham book.” She held up the book.
“Really? In the dark?”
“It’s the third week in June. The sun just went down.” A semi-truth. “Besides, I answered your question. Now you answer mine. Did you specifically memorize that line from Romeo and Juliet in order to impress the ladies?”
“I memorized a great deal of poetry to impress one special lady in particular.”
A frisson of pain knifed through her. One lady? Since when had he cared about one woman? “Really. Who?”
“My grandmother,” he said, his smile widening into a grin. “I was a little boy, and she was a very old lady whose eyesight was fading. I had a date to read to her every afternoon. And I’m afraid my grandmother loved romantic poetry.”
A tiny bit of mortar crumbled from the wall around Courtney’s heart. In her mind’s eye she could see a
