“I’m so sorry!” a voice called.
“It’s okay.” It wasn’t, but I couldn’t get upset over an accident. I wasn’t exactly graceful myself despite years of ballet and pageantry.
“I’m a total klutz. Are you okay?”
I flicked my eyes to the apologizer, surprised to see it was the magazine-toting maniac from the office dressed in a crisp, fitted suit. Good God, I hoped he didn’t work near me. “I’m fine.”
“Keely!” he breathed, recognizing me at the same moment. “Oh, I’m so sorry, honey. I owe you a replacement. What did you have?”
“Don’t worry about it,” I insisted, reaching down to fetch the cup that once held my fallen latte love. A worker was already headed over with a mop to lap up its innards, the brown liquid cast at least six feet to my left. I stepped to the side to toss the cup in the garbage, the tabloid-toter in hot pursuit.
“No, no, I owe you!”
I sized him up, hesitant about letting a stranger pay for my drink. At four bucks, the things weren’t cheap. “Okay,” I relented, deciding there was no harm in letting him replace what he destroyed. “A large, cinnamon dolce latte.”
He repeated it to the barista who was hovering nearby, before turning back to me with a devilish smile. “It’s nice seeing you again, Keely.”
I nodded, totally blanking on his name. Awkward. We’d met once, and he remembered my name. I couldn’t remember the names of people I’d met at least half a dozen times.
“My name’s Rick,” he reminded, spotting my conundrum a mile away. “Hard to forget your name. Sorry. It’s so beautiful.”
“Thanks,” I muttered, groaning internally. He was looking at me like a friggin cupcake he wanted to lick all the icing off of. And unfortunately for him, only one man was going to be licking any icing off me. If he ever got back to me, that was.
“I love Irish names. My grandmother was from Cork. I was supposed to be a Ronan, but my parents went with Richard at the last second.”
“That’s a nice name.” I didn’t have much more to add, my own name history just as fudged. I’d been born Skye, but that died along with my old life when I was adopted. It wasn’t a hard name to leave behind since the only snippets I could remember of that life consisted of concrete walls and chainlink fences, the children’s home I’d been in more like a prison than a house.
“It’s nice seeing you again. Thank you so much for the help the other day, by the way. I found what I was looking for on the passport site.”
“That’s awesome! You’re welcome.” At least he wouldn’t be back in my office raving like a lunatic again.
He smiled, the brilliant white chompers as bright as I remembered. “You’ll probably be seeing more of me. I have a big assignment coming up.”
“Oh yeah? Are you a reporter?” I crossed my arms, uncomfortable with how close he was standing to me, but with the lake of latte, I was trapped.
His nose crinkled in disgust. “Oh yuck, no! I’m a writer.”
“That’s so cool! Do you write books or…?” Meeting an author was always awesome, especially in the wild, so to speak, rather than at a signing.
“I’m working on my first novel, but I write for the Boston Bold.”
“Oh wow, congrats!” So he was a kinda-sorta reporter. The Boston Bold was an up-and-coming magazine making quite a splash with exposés. My parents were probably glad they weren’t around when they were in the limelight.
“It can get pretty boring,” he said with a shrug. “I spend my days writing and nights researching.”
I chuckled, thinking back to the stack of textbooks waiting for me at home. “Sounds familiar.”
His green eyes widened at my response, his blinding smile returning in a flash. “You’re a writer, too?”
Psh, I wished. “No, I’m a college student, but I do write way too many papers,” I joked.
He stepped closer to me, the soiled mop swiping too close to his expensive leather shoes for even my liking. “Undergrad? Grad?”
“Grad school. Somehow more schooling seemed like a good idea.” I only had a year and a half if I kept steamrolling courses, but it was still brutal paired with work.
He nodded with a laugh. “I know the feeling. I finished my master’s last year.”
“No way! Awesome! Local or…?” I didn’t want to pry, but it felt nice having someone to talk to about school. Dad listened but didn’t engage, and Mom would rather have a hysterectomy than hear about it.
“I did an accelerated online program. It’s a lot of work, but nothing is better than getting that piece of paper in the end. I have it framed in my office.”
“Me too!” So maybe I wasn’t so crazy about jumping into the program after all. Most people I told at work thought I was bonkers. But I didn’t have a choice really with my chosen field.
His friendly eyes stayed with mine, giving me his undivided attention. “What are you studying?”
“Social work.” I braced myself, expecting the inevitable negative reaction I was used to, but instead, he seemed to smile even wider.
“That’s incredible. It’s a field that calls like no other.”
Finally. Someone got it. Someone other than just Ethan at least. Even Lil and Jorge hated the idea, both telling me I was clinging to bad memories. They didn’t grasp that helping little ones was an act of healing in itself.
“Can I be out of line for a moment?” he asked, nervously picking at his watch.
Crap. He was totally going to say something rude. A jab about the pay. A reminder about the burn-out rate. He just needed to get the all-clear before smashing my career plans with a hammer.
“Go for it.”
“How about we grab lunch sometime? We can talk all about thesis statements and research projects. I’ve been toying with a PhD program and would love someone to chat with.”
“That’s your pickup line?” I teased, unable to believe the words as
