Heading East (Part 2 of 2) (The True North Series) Read online

  I stifled a groan when her finger trailed down the front of my pants. “Syl, don’t,” I said, grasping her wrist. I brought her hand up to my mouth and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “It’s not you. I’m just done with that lifestyle.”

  She jerked back, her lips pursed. “This is a hell of a time for your newfound morals to kick in,” she spat out, opening her door and stepping inside. “You should have just left me at the bar,” she added and slammed the door.

  I spent the rest of the weekend on my own, unable to bear anyone’s company. More often than not I’d usually meet up with a few guys for Monday brunch, but today I felt like being alone with my thoughts. More and more I felt detached from my usual group of friends, since everything we used to have in common—women, drinking, occasional drug use—no longer interested me. It was only after Decker had threatened to tell the guys what had happened in Alaska that I even agreed to go out with them at all.

  I’d tried to have fun, to join in the revelry, but it seemed every time I turned around I ran into a woman I knew. For someone who was trying to become a better man, seeing proof that I was once a promiscuous degenerate was not exactly welcome.

  So I went to a Japanese restaurant and ate my sushi in relative silence, with only my thoughts to keep me company. I wondered about Kat, about what she was doing at that moment all the way across the continent. I wondered if she thought about me, if she would ever find it in her to forgive me. It didn’t seem likely, but even in one of the most expensive cities in the world hope was still free.

  On my way back home I was preparing to cross the street when a golden-haired woman walked by me at a fast clip. My eyes followed her, as they have for every blonde since returning to New York, in hopes that one day it would be Kat that would turn around.

  “Give it up, Harrington,” I said under my breath, letting the air out of my lungs. It had been months and I hadn’t heard from her. If she was ever going to forgive me it would have happened already.

  I turned my head to get one final glimpse of the woman who was looking around—the telltale motion of a lost person—affording me a brief glimpse of her profile.

  I sucked in a breath. That can’t be.

  I moved fast, making my way through the pedestrian traffic, trying not to lose sight of my target. Because I wasn’t paying attention I bumped into an older gentleman, knocking the cane clear from his hands.

  “Hey!”

  “I’m sorry, sir,” I said, quickly retrieving the cane from the ground. “I apologize.” When I turned back, the woman was gone.

  I jogged until I reached the corner, grateful that my height afforded me a good vantage point, but a quick scan of the intersecting streets revealed nothing. I spun in place, wondering where she could have gone, when I spotted the entrance to the underground train station.

  My determination roared to life as I strode forward and looked around. I would find that blonde then, when I was satisfied that it wasn’t Kat at all, I would go back to my office and forget this ever happened. I’d stop chasing the memory of a woman who wanted nothing to do with me.

  I went through the turnstile and scanned the two facing platforms, finding them emptied from the recently departed train.

  As I made my way out I shook my head, laughing at my stupidity. Of course it wasn’t Kat. The Katherine Hollister I knew was stubborn and would never listen to me about going back to school. Even if she did, she’d never willingly choose to live in New York. She hated crowds, couldn’t even go shopping in a mall without suffering a panic attack.

  I turned towards the exit when I spotted a lone figure with her back pressed against the wall. She was looking down, sending her blonde hair spilling down around her face. I blinked a few times, not altogether sure she was really there. It was possible I wanted to see Kat so badly I was imagining her in this very train station with her book bag clutched in her arms as her chest rose and fell.

  “Kat?”

  She looked up and those blue eyes froze me in place. She looked stunned for a moment, then awareness crept in as her eyes flew around my face. “Luke?”

  I approached cautiously, blinking once, twice. “Yes. It’s me.”

  Then she did the last thing I expected: she pushed away from the wall and threw her arms around me, pressing her face into my chest.

  I was momentarily stunned until my body reacted on its own and pulled her in. I held her to me, breathing in her familiar scent, overwhelmed with nostalgia. I slid a hand up her back and tangled my fingers in her hair, still unable to believe she was here. “What’s wrong, Kat? Are you alright?”

  Her limbs trembled as she held me. “I’ll be alright. Just give me a second,” she said in a voice that was so unlike her usual brash, confident self.

  I pivoted slightly so that I was completely shielding her from the world, allowing her a few minutes to catch her breath. I’d done this for her once; I’d gladly do it again. “Pretend it’s just you and me,” I said, crushing her against me. “There’s nobody else here but the two of us.”

  We stood there for a long, quiet moment, encased in our own little bubble. Eventually her breathing slowed and she pulled away; I held on until she was out of reach.

  “I didn’t mean to do that,” she said, her eyes anywhere but on me. Her eyebrows were drawn and her lips were in a thin line of agitation. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be.”

  She looked around. “I was trying to find my school from my new apartment but I got on the wrong train and then there were all these people and it’s so hot down here…” Her eyes flicked up to me. “I freaked out. I didn’t mean to grab you.”

  What she meant was that she didn’t mean to unwittingly ask for my help. Even after all this time it killed her to need someone else. “So you really did it.”

  She looked ready for a fight when she asked, “Did what?”

  “Moved here for school.”

  She lifted her chin. “I didn’t come here for you.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “The meaning was implied.”

  I blew out a frustrated breath, ready to say something else that would no doubt rile her further, when she suddenly said, “I don’t think I can do it.”

  I stared at her, at the uncertainty clouding her features. “What can’t you do?”

  She motioned around us. “I’m a cliché. I’m the proverbial fish out of water, and I hate it. I fucking hate feeling this way, like every time I turn a corner I don’t know where I’ll be,” she confessed in that soft, raspy voice.

  This person before me was far removed from the confident, brash person I’d met in Alaska. It pained me to see her so lost and afraid. “Hey, you’re The Badass of Sommers Lane, remember?”

  Her lips thinned. “I don’t know what I was thinking, coming here.” She reached up and ran her trembling fingers through her hair.

  I touched her shoulder. “Kat, you’ll be fine.”

  “Will I?”

  I fought the need to throw my arms around her again, knowing she would just as likely to kick my ass as accept my comfort. “Do you want to go get some coffee?” I asked instead. “There’s a place right down the street.”

  Kat glanced over my shoulder at the loud screeching sound of a train approaching, carrying hundreds of people towards the station. “Let’s go,” she said, almost making a grab for my hand then changing her mind.

  We walked side by side to the coffee shop in silence, and it gave me a chance to really take her in. She was dressed much like before with her loose jeans, purple Chuck Taylors, and a black hooded sweatshirt, a leather book bag slung across her body. As usual, she wore no makeup on her face and she looked all the more lovely for it.

  I opened the door for her but Kat, being who she is, held out her hand and said, “Go ahead.”

  We went to a table in a quiet corner in the back, away from the bustle of city life.

  “What would you like?” I asked, taking off my suit jacket and hanging it on the back of th
e chair.

  She sat down. “Anything with caffeine.”

  I never took my eyes off her as I stood in line, still a little frazzled by her appearance in New York. I’d gone many months without looking at her face—save for the blurry photo Decker had taken of us back at the mall in Anchorage—and I wasn’t about to give up the opportunity now. Even if she kept frowning at me.

  I came back a few minutes later and handed her a tall paper cup. “Hope you like it. It reminds me of you.”

  She took a sip and her eyebrows drew together. “Cinnamon-flavored coffee?”

  “To go with your famous cinnamon rolls,” I said, sitting down across from her, our knees touching underneath the small table.

  For the next few minutes we sipped our drinks in silence with our gazes locked. There was so much to say. I needed to clear the air before I ran out of time.

  So I began at the simplest place. “It’s good to see you. I’ve missed you.”

  She didn’t say anything. I didn’t really expect her to. It would have taken an act of Congress to make her confess that she missed me too, even though I could tell by the way she looked at me that she shared the sentiment.

  “I’m sorry about the way things ended,” I continued. “I never meant for you to find out that way, and in such a public manner.”

  Her gaze hardened. “No point rehashing the past.”

  “I meant it when I said I’m not that same guy who came to Alaska to play with your emotions.”

  “Sure, if you say so,” she said, her voice edged with steel. “Either way, it’s over.”

  “In that case, I’d like to be friends.”

  “Friends?” she asked as if I’d said something completely unbelievable.

  “Yes. I’ve lived here all my life. I can help you. If you ever need anything, even just a recommendation on a good restaurant, all you need to do is ask.”

  “I can manage. Thanks.” She stood up and gathered her things, but before she could go I grabbed her wrist and slid a business card into the pocket of her jeans.

  “Just in case you need to get a hold of me.”

  “Yeah, I won’t be needing it.” She held up her cup. “Thanks for the coffee anyway.”

  I watched her walk away from me, never once blinking until she had exited the establishment and walked beyond the window.

  3

  KAT

  I couldn’t believe it. In this huge city, where over eight million people live, what were the chances of running into Luke? And he couldn’t have shown up at a more opportune time. Just as I was beginning to spiral into a panic attack, when my chest was getting tight and my vision started to swim, he had appeared out of nowhere like some sort of superhero in a freaking suit and tie.

  He had held me like that before, had acted like my shield against the world until I was able to find my center and calm down. Now he’d appeared again, as if summoned by my desperation.

  I stopped and turned back towards the coffee shop, peeking in through the edge of the window to make sure my frazzled mind hadn’t just made him up—but nope, he was just where I’d left him. He rose to his feet, all six foot two of him, put on his dark grey suit jacket, then straightened his red patterned tie. The suit was definitely tailored to his body, the fit comfortable across his wide shoulders and tapering down slightly to his narrow waist. The pants were impeccable and ended at just the right length over his black Oxford shoes.

  I’d never had a thing for men in suits before—preferring the outdoorsy, lumberjack type—but Luke looked incredible. Refined and worldly and completely out of my league.

  I let out a breath, mentally saying goodbye. He’d asked to be friends, but such a thing wasn’t really possible. Not between us.

  “You’re still here.”

  Luke’s deep voice pulled me from my thoughts and I realized he was standing in front of me on the sidewalk. He smiled, the skin crinkling around his eyes, as he put his hands in his pants pockets.

  “I don’t think it’s possible to be friends,” I blurted out, shaking my head.

  He frowned and I realized then just how much I’d missed that look on his face. “I think our past is not insurmountable.”

  I motioned between us. “Look at us. The jeans and tee shirt girl doesn’t belong in the world of the suit and tie guy.”

  He touched the lapels of his jacket. “Take all of this off, and we’re the same underneath.” One dark eyebrow rose and the corner of his mouth lifted. “With a few distinct differences, of course.”

  I avoided his direct gaze, afraid to discover that he still had some power over my body. I was in New York for me, to live my dream, not to be swept away by his sweet words and sexual attraction. I’d gone down that road once and it hadn’t ended well. “I gotta go.”

  As I turned away he grabbed my hand, the heat of his touch holding me in place. I remembered that large, warm hand, the feel of his palm caressing my skin. I thought of it almost every night.

  “Come to my place tonight. Let me cook you dinner.”

  I meant to say no. Really. I opened my mouth to tell him where to stick his dinner but I got stuck in the pull of his nearly colorless gaze. The rational part of my brain was shouting at me to leave before I made another mistake, but I couldn’t make my legs move. To find Luke in this city of millions was like finding a little pocket of peace inside the madness. “Where do you live?” I finally asked.

  He smiled. “I get off work at five. I can come pick you up around five-thirty.”

  “I think I’ll take the train.” Hell, if I was going to get sucked back in, I might as well go down fighting.

  Later that day I lay on my camping cot, staring at the cracks in the yellowed popcorn ceiling as I took stock of my life. I’d locked up my home in Alaska, flown clear across the country, and rented the first apartment I was able to afford—even though it had been outside of Manhattan—and, in less than twenty-four hours, I would be attending my first ever higher-level class. I’d bought the books and various other necessary supplies. In that regard I was ready as could be.

  My home life, on the other hand, was not as organized. So far all I had was an uncomfortable camping cot, a folding table and chair, a few pots and pans that had come in a cheap set, and paper plates and cups. In the corner was my luggage containing my clothes, my sketchbooks, and the clothing I’d made over the years.

  It wasn’t my idea of a comfortable home yet, but I hadn’t planned on staying in New York for the long haul anyway, especially now that Luke knew I was here. As soon as this nine-month course was over, I was out of here.

  At five o’clock I made my way across town to Luke’s apartment. He lived in the Flatiron District, and it took me two train transfers before I was finally at his street. I walked by the famous Flatiron Building, taking a quick picture and wondering how it looked inside with that tight corner angle.

  On the way I spotted a grocery store and ducked inside. The store was small and the aisles narrow; it reminded me so much of Laurie’s General Store. I didn’t realize until that moment, as I stood in the aisle between sanitary products and foot powder, that I missed Ayashe and all of its crazy inhabitants. Or maybe it was just the familiarity that I missed.

  After grabbing a bottle of wine and paying, I walked the rest of the way to Luke’s apartment building on East 20th Street, finding the Interior Decorating store he’d told me about. I craned my head to look up at the eleven-story white brick building, in awe of its many neoclassical architectural details. I found the doorway to the apartments on the left and rang the buzzer. A few seconds later his deep voice came on over the intercom. “Take your time coming up. I need a few more minutes,” he said and buzzed the lobby door open.

  I made my way inside, wondering why he’d need extra time, when the answer slapped me upside the head. Of course.

  I hurried into the elevator and jabbed at the eleven button, willing it to hurry so that I wouldn’t miss catching Luke in the act. When the doors opened I hid in the far cor
ner of the hall, sure that at any moment a woman would come slinking out of his apartment.

  After five minutes of no movement the brown door opened. Luke stepped out and looked around, spotting me right away. “What the hell are you doing there?” he asked, walking over to me with bare feet.

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “Giving you a few minutes to kick the woman out of your apartment.”

  “Woman?”

  “Yeah. Didn’t you need a few extra minutes to get rid of whoever you had stashed in there?”

  He shook his head and laughed, grabbing hold of the strap of my bag. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?” he asked, pulling me back to his apartment. “I’d just gotten out of the shower and needed to get dressed.”

  The drips of water just inside the front door helped to prove his case.

  He closed the door and turned to me, the amusement on his face now gone. “Is that what you really think of me?” he asked, his eyes stern.

  “I don’t know what to think of you, to tell the truth,” I said. “Not since—”

  “You think I’m still sleeping around, that I’m still seducing every woman I come across.” It wasn’t a question but a statement, and an accurate one at that.

  “Well, isn’t that why you invited me here? To seduce me?”

  “No. I invited you here because I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you again.”

  I opened my mouth, then closed it. To get out of having to issue an apology I handed him the bottle of wine, set my book bag down, and turned my attention to the apartment. My mouth fell open as I took in the open-plan space with exposed brick walls and wood floors. The modern kitchen was directly to the left, all steel and white glossy surfaces, separated from the rest of the space by an enormous island with a stove and sink in the middle. Across from it was the living room with its dark brown leather sofa, wall-mounted widescreen TV and a reclaimed wood coffee table on top of a tan shag rug.