“That was my fault,” Morgan said matter-of-factly. “I wasn't watching where I was going.”
The man turned his full attention on her. Rather than being annoyed or angry, he seemed amused. Not laughing at her, just lit up in some small way, either by the situation or her readiness to assume blame.
“I don't know,” he said smoothly. “I was the one who moved.”
“I was already in motion, and you were otherwise occupied. The fault's mine.”
One corner of his mouth lifted slightly. “Do you always apologize so precisely?”
He tilted his head slightly and looked at her, his gaze going from simply amused to curious. Morgan held it because it was impossible not to. That shade of blue was the same vibrant color as the cloudless autumn sky.
Then he smiled. Not the practiced, charming smile she would have predicted. This was something softer than that. Almost involuntary.
The crooked half-grin intensified those apprehensive flutters under her rib cage, which was ridiculous. She was known for keeping her cool and calm in any situation.
“Can I buy you another coffee?” she asked, because that was the decent thing to do.
His grin grew. “To drink or to wear?”
Her lips thinned.
“Just kidding,” he said. “I’m good but thank you.”
His earlier companion returned with a towel, and Morgan took the opportunity to end the exchange, turning and moving to the end of the counter to order properly. She didn’t look back as she paid for her order and left, telling herself that the weird feeling in her stomach had everything to do with being out of her comfort zone and nothing whatsoever to do withhim.
Morgan drovethe remaining distance to Frank's house, sipping her truly excellent hazelnut blend, and absently wondering why she was still thinking about him.
The man hadn't offered his name. She hadn't offered hers. The interaction had lasted under two minutes and consisted of approximately sixty words and one odd moment where their eyes had met, and she’d felt something unexpected and unidentifiable.
She put it down to tiredness and to being annoyed that this trip was even necessary in the first place.
The gravel drive started about a quarter mile off the main road. The tree line came up close on either side, the brilliance of fall colors breathtaking against the blue sky. Morgan slowed to navigate a rut and came around a bend to find the house sitting there the way old houses did—like it had been there forever.
Frank’s place was an old farmhouse, painted a white that had lost some of its brightness over the years. A wide porch spanned the front, with a rocking chair at one end. Firewood was stacked along the tree line, away from the house. A large, two-story detached garage sat off to the left, behind the house, door down.
She sat in the car for a moment after she cut the engine.
It didn’t look so bad. The house and grounds were well-maintained. Nothing like the run-down place she’d prepared herself for.
And it was only for a few weeks. Maybe not even that long, if her supervisor came to his senses.
She could do this.
She got out of the car.
Frank openedthe door before she reached the steps, and he held the door with his free hand. His expression gave nothing away. Was he glad to see her? Annoyed by this sudden and unexpected disruption to his routine? She didn’t know him well enough to tell.
He was old, in his mid-to-late seventies. Well-groomed. His beard was white, though there were still enough strands of auburn to keep him from looking ancient. His eyes were the most striking thing about him. Bright and intelligent, they were the same penetrating dark green that she saw in the mirror every morning.
She wondered if her father had had those eyes too, or if the trait had skipped a generation.
Beside him stood a large dog that looked like he had some Great Dane in him, equally watchful and assessing. Just as she was about to ask if he was friendly enough to pet, the dog turned around and walked away.
Well, okay, then.
“Have any trouble getting here?” Frank asked by way of greeting.
“No.”