The Man She Knew. Loree Lough

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       CHAPTER SIX

      “IT’S A LOVELY old building,” Maleah said, leaning into the deck rail. “And the view, well, it’s priceless.”

      He’d half expected her to berate him for agreeing with Stan. And for every awful thing that might have happened to her since the guards carted him off that day. During the drive from the Institute to the bistro, he’d made up his mind to take it on the chin. She had a right to vent some frustration. God knows he’d done his share during his ten years at Lincoln. Her polite behavior seemed too good to be true...

      He nodded toward the Constellation. “Ever done a tour of her?”

      “I’m embarrassed to admit it, but no.”

      She smiled. Not the big loving smile that he’d seen in his dreams. But close enough.

      Considering.

      “It’s on my bucket list, though. Along with the Science Center. The National Aquarium. Poe’s house, and Babe Ruth’s, too. The B&O Railroad Museum...” She faced the water again. “Not sure why it seems like I never have time for things like that. I have friends—married with kids—who’ve seen all of Charm City’s sights.”

      Married. With kids. If he hadn’t screwed up, she’d be married with kids. His kids. Eyes shut tight, Ian lowered his head, hoping what he’d done to her wasn’t the reason she’d remained single.

      From the corner of his eye, he could see her, watching as a sailboat floated silently by, its navigation lights reflected by the dark Inner Harbor waters. If not for the motorcycle, roaring by on Thames Street below, she could have heard the quiet clank of rigging lines hitting the mast, too.

      Arms crossed and shoulders hunched, Maleah shivered.

      “Let’s go inside,” he said. “I’ll make us some coffee and we can get our Stan talk out of the way.”

      Nodding, she followed him. A lifetime ago, she would have reached for his hand, given it a loving squeeze as they walked down the wide-planked hall. Lord, how he missed things like that. Missed her. It hadn’t been easy, picking up the Sunday Sun and reading about her involvement in one fund-raiser or another, or turning on the evening news and seeing her respond to reporters’ questions about improvements to Washburne. It hurt like crazy, knowing she was literally minutes from him, yet completely out of his reach. That seemed fair punishment for what he’d put her through, but he didn’t have to like it.

      She’d stopped to admire sketches of the building as it had looked a century ago, and photographs of the changes it had undergone through the decades. Hands pocketed, he stood beside her.

      “Looks like the former owners took great pains to preserve the historical integrity of the place.”

      “It was a mess when my aunt bought the place.” He pointed to the collage of snapshots, showing each phase of construction. “She has a good eye.”

      She stepped up to a more recent collection of pictures. “Who’s responsible for these?”

      “I am.”

      Even looking apprehensive, she was gorgeous. If he’d known how hard it would be, standing this close to her, Ian never would have suggested a one-on-one meeting. Not even for Stan, his dad’s boss.

      “Feel free to wander around while I get the coffee started.”

      Yet again she followed, this time to the kitchen.

      “Wow. Nice setup.” She turned slowly, taking in polished stainless appliances, countertops, and shelving lined with pots, pans and kettles that shone under the fluorescent lights. “I know a few people who own restaurants who’d turn green with envy if they saw this place.”

      Pleasant as all this small talk sounded, Ian tensed, wondering when the proverbial other boot would drop. He hid the uneasiness by stepping into the cooler.

      “How many chefs do you have?” she called out.

      “Two, right now.” Ian emerged carrying two slices of cheesecake. “Of all the things I used to do around here,” he said, kicking the big door shut, “I miss that most.”