––––––––
"You don't know me," he begins before his hand darts out into the space between the two of us. "My brother knows you."
I look up and into his face. I've seen it before in the photographs that are neatly displayed in Landon's apartment. He's older than he was when he posed next to his father and brother, but it's him.
I reach out to place my hand in his. "You're Dane, aren't you?"
He nods briskly as he shakes my hand faintly. His eyes study my face before his tongue darts out to moisten his lips. "Landon told me a lot about you."
I can't say the same. I've heard spotted details about Dane Beckett from his older brother. I only know that their relationship has been strained for most of their adult lives, and that Dane is going to be a father and a husband soon.
I pull my hand free before motioning towards the door of my apartment building. "Did you come here to see me?"
It's a pointless question given the fact that I saw him standing near the door the moment my building came into view as I walked down the street. I rode the subway home after spending the past two hours with Clive and Lilly.
I'd taken a few bites of the dinner Lilly prepared as I worked my way through the dozens of messages on my phone. I'd excused myself to the solace of Clive's home office when I called my brother. He's handling it he told me. My father is as fine as can be expected. He has a competent lawyer and he's anxious to get back to Boston to clear everything up.
My brother told me he'd call me tomorrow after he landed in Boston. He loved me, he whispered, and our father loved me too.
"It will all be okay, Tessie," he managed to say before he ended the call.
"Landon is worried about you." Dane looks over my shoulder to the steady stream of traffic on the street. "He asked me to come here to see if you're okay. He tried to call you but there was no answer."
Eighteen missed calls.
When I'd finally looked at my phone there had been eighteen missed calls from Landon. I didn't listen to his voicemails, or read his text messages. When I talk to him again, I want it to be face-to-face. I need to look into his eyes as I hear him explain how his father and my father are connected.
"Are you okay?"
"I guess." I shrug, unable or maybe unwillingly to reveal too much of myself to this man. "I'm fine."
"Can we go for a coffee?" He gestures towards a café down the street. "I'd like to talk to you."
I stiffen. I hadn't realized until right now how much I was looking forward to meeting Landon's brother. He's an extension of him and in my innocent thoughts I imagined the two of us laughing as he shared stories about the things Landon did when he was a young boy. "I'm really tired."
"I'm messed up about my dad...about Frederick," he corrects himself. "I know what you're going through. I won't take a lot of your time."
I glance at the entrance to the café before I level my eyes back on his face. "I can spare a few minutes. I can't promise you more than that."
***
He's slightly taller than Landon. His hair is a bit longer and the color of his eyes is a deep brown. The smile is exactly the same though. I caught a fleeting glimpse of it when he held open the door of the café for me and I thanked him.
"Landon told me you're a fireman." I don't look up as I settle myself into a chair next to a small round table. I'd ordered a hot water with lemon. I don't need the extra energy that a dose of caffeine would give me at this time of day. I may not be able to sleep tonight, but I want to try. I need the rest if I'm going to deal with my life tomorrow.
He empties a packet of sugar into a large cup of coffee. He pops the plastic lid back on before he shakes it. He curses softly as a few drops of the dark liquid fly from the slit in the lid and land on the arm of the sweater he's wearing.
"I'm a fireman." The corners of his mouth perch into a grin. "You're an event planner."
I return the smile. I like that he not only knows that, but that he remembers. "Landon told you that?"
He takes a sip from the cup. "Landon told me a lot about you."
It's surprising given the fact that their family has been caught up in the drama surrounding their father's return from the dead and his subsequent arrest. I've only known about my dad's past for less than twelve hours and it's taking all the effort I can muster to carry on a conversation that doesn't focus on him.
I nod, searching for something to say in return. "He told me about your baby."
"He did?" His brows rise. "What did he say?"
I can tell my words gave him something he needs. Maybe it's reassurance that his brother is excited about the birth of his child? Or perhaps it's much simpler than that. "He said that you were coming back to New York from Paris so you and your girlfriend can get married here and have the baby."