“Work I’m not going to describe to you.” His eyes held hers. “Not because I don’t trust you. Because there are some things that should never be spoken of.”
“What about Donna?”
Something shifted in Frank’s expression. Warmer than guarded. “Donna is someone I’ve trusted with my life more times than I can count, for a very long time.”
Morgan nodded slowly. There was a whole corridor of closed doors behind that answer.
“Okay,” she said simply.
Frank studied her. “You’re not going to push.”
“I’m not going to push.”
“Why?”
She thought about it honestly. “Because I think we’re a lot alike, you and I.” She met his eyes. “And because you wrote back.”
His eyes glistened with a momentary sheen of moisture before he blinked it away.
“Good.”
Her phone buzzed. Patrick’s name appeared on the screen notification.
Frank’s eyes went to it, then back to her.
“Go on,” he said, leaning back.
She answered.
“Hey.” Patrick’s voice was warm. “How’s your day going?”
“Better than expected.” She looked at Frank, who was slicing more bread and pretending not to listen. “Yours?”
“Productive. Can I see you?”
She glanced at Frank. The corner of his mouth was doing the thing it did. Not quite a quirk. Possibly a twitch.
“Yes,” she said, fighting a smile of her own at the eagerness in Patrick’s voice. “Can you give me an hour?”
“Sure. Where?”
She thought for a moment. “I’ll come to you.”
She hung up and set the phone down. Frank was chewing thoughtfully but his eyes were glittering with amusement.
“What?” Morgan asked.
“He’s smitten.” He looked up, and there it was again—that quiet, steady warmth that had been there all along underneath the reserve.
Morgan felt color rise in her cheeks.
“I think you might be as well,” Frank said.
Morgan opened her mouth to deny it and couldn’t.
“He’s a good man.”
“So you’ve said.”