She executed a little shuffle kick, spun, and then took each step down in a partial skip, her heels clicking on the concrete. When she reached the bottom, her cheeks were pink, and her eyes were as bright as a full moon.
“The dancing I can fake. The singing, not so much.”
“Fake the dancing? That was impressive.”
She shook her head, rolling her bright blue eyes. “Not impressive. More like amateur hour. You should see my sister dance. She’s amazing. Growing up, whenever she wanted to practice with someone, I was her conscripted partner. I picked up a few things, but if this were a musical, she’s the one who’d be the star. And she’d dance right on by your Bing Crosby, since I’m sure she has no idea who he is. I certainly don’t.”
Amusement warmed his chest. “Were you raised by wolves? How do you not know Bing Crosby?”
“If he’s some 1940s musical star, I feel like I should be asking you why you know who he is.”
He felt a grin stretch his cheeks and raised his hands in mock surrender. “Okay. That’s fair. Maybe I shouldn’t expect everyone to have a mom who is an old musical buff. You have no idea how many Bing Crosby movies I’ve seen and how many times I’ve watched them. If you ever need somebody for Boomer trivia, entertainment category, I’m your man.”
Her laughter was like tinkling bells. “I’ll keep that in mind. I think it’s really sweet that you have that connection with your mom.” Her smile dimmed. “Time like that is precious.”
He would’ve known her mother, or someone else important to her, was deceased even if he hadn’t read it in the file. Her wistful tone, the reflexive clench of her hands, the protective inward shrug—they were all easy tells. But having that inside knowledge of her mom’s passing and not being able to acknowledge it gave him an oily, smarmy feeling, like when he was in eighth grade and had gotten caught passing a nasty note about sweet Ms. Butler. As an awkward preteen, he’d written the note to try to fit in with the cool kids, but seeing Ms. Butler’s hurt expression was ten times worse than being one of the nerds.
Seeing a look like that on Rosemary’s face would be devastating.
And where the hell had that thought come from?
He couldn’t afford to think like that. Rosemary was important because she might be the key to bringing Phillipe’s killer to justice, the key to assuaging the guilt that constantly gnawed at his intestines, the key to bringing some closure for Phillipe’s wife, Samantha. Aleksei had been the one to tell her. Gone in person to the quaint Cape Cod with an actual white picket fence. She knew the minute she saw his face. She’d collapsed, screaming and sobbing in his arms, demanding to know what happened.
And he’d had no answers.
So yeah, it might feel like crap to have to play this seemingly sweet woman who could be just one more of Moresco’s innocent victims, but if it meant bringing Moresco down, if it meant getting answers for Samantha and answers for himself, if it meant bringing Phillipe’s killer to justice, he couldn’t worry about whether Rosemary ended up with a hurt expression on her face like Ms. Butler. Even though it turned his stomach, he played his next card.
“I know exactly what you mean. Time with loved ones is precious. My dad died a few years ago. It was about a month after we got back from a fishing trip we’d put off for too long. There was always some reason why it wasn’t a good time to go. I’m so glad we went on that trip. I’d hate myself if he passed and we never went.”
Rosemary laid a hand lightly on his elbow. A slow, gentle warmth flowed up his arm.
“I’m sorry for your loss. I know how you feel. I lost my mom a couple of years ago, and I’m so grateful for all the good times we had together.” She lifted her hand from his arm and stretched it out in front of her. “I’m Rosemary Cashman.”
He engulfed her smaller hand in his own, and that same soothing heat that had flowed up his arm now filled his palm. He stared into her shining eyes. The sound of passing cars faded, and suddenly, it felt like they were the only two people on the sidewalk. He’d meant for their initial meeting to be a quick touch and go, but their joined hands lingered, as if she, like him, had some deep-seated need to hold on.
“I’m Aleksei. Aleksei Thompson. I know this might seem presumptuous, but would you like to have dinner with me?”
Chapter Four
Her breath whooshed out of her lungs, leaving her slightly lightheaded. Thoughts skittered through her shocked brain.
A handsome stranger had just invited her to dinner. One with the slightest hint of a mysterious accent. One who made sure trash got into the trashcan and who watched musicals because his mother liked them.
Things like this happened to Sage, not her.
Plus, he was a dog lover. From inside the door, she’d watched him offering tastes of his gelato to his dog from a spoon. She loved Thor, but she wouldn’t share her ice cream with him. Well, unless he did the sad-eyed paw lift to shake when she hadn’t even asked him to thing. Then she would probably be offering him tastes from a little spoon too.
Thor was an expert manipulator—or, maybe, she was just soft. It seemed like Mr. Tall, Lean, and Handsome had the same soft spot she did. At least on the inside. On the outside, there didn’t seem to be one soft thing about his body or the strong, calloused fingers that still held her hand.
Ugh!Her palms were a sweaty mess. How completely unattractive.
She tugged her arm back, instantly missing the warmth of his palm. “I don’t usually go to dinner with strangers.”
Shedidn’tusually go to dinner with anyone other than Sage and Ryker and, occasionally, Davis when he guilted her into it. And Sage would be upset if she went.
No. That was unfair.
Sage would want her to go. Sage wanted her to be happy. Wanted her to experience all the amazing things she’d missed for so many years when she was sick. But Sage would want it done on her terms. Her sister would demand a photograph of Aleksei’s driver’s license so she could have Ryker’s PI run a background check, stalk him on social media, insist on knowing the exact time and location of the dinner, and require numerous check-in texts during the event.