Page 14

She was walking past the window, moving quickly, her head down. She wore a long coat and a scarf, her red hair loose around her shoulders. And she was crying.

I saw the tears on her cheeks, saw the way she was wiping at them with the back of her hand, saw the way her shoulders were hunched as if she were trying to make herself smaller, invisible.

I didn’t think.

I stood, threw money on the table, and pushed through the door.

“Madigan!”

She stopped and turned around. Her eyes went wide when she saw me. Shock and fear and something else I couldn’t name flashed across her face.

“Mr. Valentinetti?” Her voice was barely a whisper. She looked around quickly, nervously, checking to see if anyone was watching. “What are you... you shouldn’t?”

“Are you all right?” I closed the distance between us, stopping just short of touching her. Up close, I could see her eyes were red and swollen. Her face was pale. “What happened?”

“Nothing. I’m fine.” She wiped at her cheeks again, trying to compose herself. “You shouldn’t be talking to me. If someone sees…”

“I don’t care.”

“You should care. My father⁠—”

“Your father is a bastard.” I kept my voice low and gentle. “I can handle your father.”

She stared at me, and I saw the conflict in her eyes. The fear. The hesitation. The part of her that wanted to run, to protect herself, to do the smart thing.

And the part of her that didn’t want to.

“Why are you here?” she asked quietly.

“I was having coffee. I saw you walk past.” I paused. “Why are you crying?”

“It’s nothing. Just... family stuff. It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me.”

She looked at me as if I had said something in a foreign language. Like the concept of someone caring about her tears was so foreign she couldn’t process it.

“You don’t even know me,” she said.

“I know enough.”

“You don’t know anything.”

“Then let me know more.” My words came out before I could stop them, reckless and dangerous and completely honest. “Have dinner with me.”

Her eyes widened. “What?”

“Dinner. Tonight. There’s a place I know, quiet and private. We can talk.”

“I can’t.”

“You can.”

“My father⁠—”

“Won’t know. No one will know.” I held her gaze, willing her to say yes, knowing I had no right to ask, but asked anyway. “Please.”

She looked around again, her hands twisting together. I could see the war happening inside her, the fear battling against something else. Want, maybe. Curiosity. The same pull I had been feeling since the moment I saw her.