“You’re quite the Sherlock Holmes, aren’t you?”
“Not really, but my hearing is pretty good. For example, I heard you tell your cab driver to take you to the Blackstone Island Ferry Company, so using my superior powers of deduction, plus the fact you said you were going home, I am guessing you live on the island.”
“Are you stalking me, Caleb?”
Yes. “Not at all, Brooke, just being observant and taking note of some things we have in common.”
“Such as?”
“Blackstone Island, of course. My family has a home there near the West Light, and my brother lives there, too, but he has his own place a few miles down the western shore. It’s a great house with a private beach—perfect for a weekend away from the city.” Okay, that was a lie. I’d never been to Lucas’s place on the island because I hadn’t set foot on the island in nearly a decade. I only knew of it because he’d sent me the realtor link when he bought the property two years ago.
“Your brother’s home sounds lovely, but I can assure you we don’t have much in common as far as the island goes.”
Was that sarcasm in her voice?
“What do you mean?” I sensed displeasure, and doubt had started to creep in to kill the happy buzz I’d had when we first started this conversation.
“Not everyone who lives on the island has a mansion with a private beach, Caleb. In fact, most of the permanent residents struggle to find work that will keep them housed and fed year-round. The tourist trade is seasonal, and it’s a very different reality for the rest of us who don’t live on the western shores.”
“Oh . . . where do you live?” I asked hesitantly.
“In my grandmother’s cottage on the hill above Fairchild Light, where there are no private beaches and no estates. And no job for a woman who gave thirty-five years of her life working for one of those fine west-side mansions before they closed it down and dismissed everyone.”
“That’s a terrible thing to do. Was that your grandmother who worked for them?”
“Yes, she was in charge of the housekeeping and general management of the house.”
“I’m so sorry to hear she lost her job.”
“Why? It’s not your fault, Caleb. You can’t help it if your family is west-side and mine is south-end.”
Awkward silence stretched out between us and I wasn’t sure how to respond. Brooke took care of it and saved me from having to think of something to say.
“Listen, that was rude of me and I apologize for the rant. I forgot myself for a moment, sorry. I do want to thank you for the beautiful flowers. They really are so lovely, and I don’t think I’ll ever look at a meatball in quite the same way again.”
“You’re very welcome for the flowers, and please feel free to think of me whenever you see a meatball. I am so honored.”
She laughed but it wasn’t the same as the first time. The magic had gone and been replaced by something vaguely unpleasant.
“Good-bye, Caleb.”
“Take care, Brooke.”
I sat on my ass and pondered where that conversation had taken a wrong turn. Because it most certainly had. Was I attracted to her only because she was beautiful and spoke with a sexy accent that turned me on? Had I indulged in preconceived ideas about her because she appeared so confident and intelligent? Had I evaluated her status and assumed she came from money because of where she lived and because she worked in a professional office? And had I believed that would be the only necessary criteria to continue my pursuit?
I didn’t think I’d done any of those things, but maybe subconsciously I had. I couldn’t recall what I’d thought when I discovered she lived on the island, but it never occurred to me she might be—what—poor? I didn’t think about it at all because such an idea wasn’t in the scope of my realm. I dealt in money, and making sure that money grew into even more money. Poor wasn’t part of my vernacular, and it never had been. Never would be.
I was guilty of letting my dick lead me again. A pretty girl had caught my attention because she spoke in an oh-so-sexy English accent. I must be losing my goddamn mind. Wake up, fuckhead, and pull yourself together.
I texted James to see if he wanted to meet for lunch. I still needed to get the recap on Janice and maybe hanging with my bestie would straighten my stupid ass out.
October
“YOUR suit came back from the cleaners with a note. He can’t get the stains out, and since the fabric is gray, they still show. Something in the cocktail sauce makes the stain set permanently he said.” Victoria held my Brioni Colosseo on a hanger underneath a dry-cleaning bag. “What do you want me to do with it?”