* * *

Leo stands in my doorway with a smile so bright it could light a small city. “I brought you breakfast. First day on a new job and I can’t have you leaving hungry.”

“How did you have time?” I step aside so he can enter. He smells like soap and happiness.

“I’m resourceful.” He places the tray of food on the bar. “I ran downstairs. I’m a hunter/gatherer like that.”

“I left your bed an hour ago. That line had to be out the door at this time of the morning.” I glance at the clock. Eight a.m. is rush hour for the guys in the bakery.

“A friend of mine was in line. I begged to cut in.”

If a guy like Leo asks you to dance naked in the streets with him, you consider it. I’m convinced he could charm the last stitch of clothing off a homeless woman. She’d probably pay him for the honor.

I didn’t mind being naked with him—especially last night in his apartment.

I am afraid of the charm and I don’t trust my judgment. Wesley had that same way about him in the beginning. The too-easy ability he possessed to make me feel special.

That charm fell away like a tree shedding its leaves in the fall, until one day, I knew he was different. By that point, it was the full-fledged winter of our relationship.

Wesley never allowed me to work. He made sure I couldn’t. The house in Tacoma was too far on the outskirts. I didn’t own a car.

I was stuck.

Leo’s charm is different. It’s the charm of his honesty. It’s the intensity that glows from his eyes when he listens to you speak. It’s the way he encourages me to do what’s right for me.

Deep down in that back-of-the-closet spot of my soul, I know that Wesley and Leo are as different as Satan and Gabriel.

I’m more scared after the weekend with Leo than I’ve ever been in my life. He’s a glittering thing in a world full of rubble. That silver tinsel that attracts a bird foraging for nest materials. He could make a home beautiful.

And this is what I did with Wesley. Saw the possibilities of us before we’d had a chance to really know each other. My stomach clenches.

Leo happily offers me the bagel and I take a bite. “Umm…”

He wipes a corner of my mouth with one finger and sticks it into his own. “Don’t make all those sexy sounds. You won’t get to work on time.”

“I’m a little excited,” I say.

“I keep telling you not to say such things to me, you wicked girl.” He winks and takes another bite of the bagel and then offers it to me. Although there are more pastries on the tray, I love sharing with him.

I grab the orange juice and peel away the cap. “What are you up to today?”

“Online meeting this morning with an advertiser.”

“Sounds fun.”

“It’s not. It’s like listening to Charlie Brown’s teacher talk for an hour. Mwa, mwa-mwa. Mwa-mwa.” He drags me forward and into his arms. “I can’t wait for this day to be over.”

“Why do you do it then? This thing that you fund with ads…”

When I say ‘this thing’, I wait for him to give me that tiny nugget of disclosure.

“Bills. Ambition. Freedom. It’s OK until I get my novels published.” He shrugs. “But you,” he says, changing the subject, “need to go work for the man. I’ll be here when you get back.” He swats me on the behind and heads out the door.

I know it’s unfair to expect total disclosure about everything in his life, but I need his dirty laundry exposed before I can lay out mine. Then I’ll know how much I need to tone mine down.

I can make myself sound more misled than plain stupid. Right?

At Le Frou Frous Pooch Hotel, I meet the manager, Tom, who instructs me on my duties. He’s a young guy, probably younger than I am. He drags his fingers across his too long bangs as he talks to all the dogs like they’re people.

“Want to go for a walk with Ms. Harper?” he says to a sheepdog name Louis. “All right then. Be easy on her. Don’t pull on the lead.”

All the tasks are more fun than work and I smile all morning as I walk dogs and generally play harder than I have in years.

When he gives me an hour for lunch, I leave and head to Dastardly’s, where I’m supposed to meet Josie.

She’s seated at the bar, so I join her. The place is packed and Dane is serving tables along with his waitstaff.

“Hi,” I say, positioning myself on the wood stool. She’s already ordered her food and the pasta smells heavenly. I’m starved after all the energy I’ve used with the dogs.

“Hey yourself.” Josie cocks an eyebrow and grins. She continues to chew a bite of pasta while keeping eye contact.

“What?”

“Oh, don’t play coy with me. I’ve talked to my brother.” She bumps her elbow against mine.

“I’m not,” I say and take the one-sheet paper menu that Dane flicks in my direction.

“Tell me everything. Well, not everything. Some details would be too weird. But you and Leo? I knew this was going to happen.”

“Why is that?”

“You’re his type. I’m so glad for him to be rid of Tori the witch.”

“You liked her that much, huh?”

Josie suddenly frowns. “I’m not sure of how much I should say about their thing. I wouldn’t want to share stuff Leo hasn’t told you. But I hate that woman.”

“I met her.”

Josie stabs a bite of her pasta and swings her dark hair to one side. She raises her eyebrows. “Oh? How’d that happen? I was hoping she’d moved, since I haven’t run into her in a while.”

“We went to breakfast on Saturday morning and bumped into her. Then she came by his apartment later.”

She drops her fork. It clangs onto the concrete floor of Dastardly’s, but she doesn’t bother to retrieve it. “Shit. No way.”

I nod. “She…um…seemed upset, but Leo said it wasn’t important.” Her reaction unsettles me. “Take my fork,” I say, unwrapping the rolled napkin that someone placed in front of me at some point.

“Forget about the fork.” Josie looks like she’s about to explode.

“It’s OK. He was a little upset afterward, but I think he’s fine now.”

“Do not let that woman near him. Do you hear?” Josie’s mouth tightens. “You have no idea, no idea at all, what a lying, conniving piece of work she is. She almost broke him. I swear I told her I’d run her over in my car if she dared to step foot near his place.” She pushes her plate away.

And I thought I might need anger management. “What did she do?” I can’t help but ask.

Josie’s lost in her own world and it’s not a happy place. She’s staring at the bottles of booze lining the wall of the bar as if she’d like target practice on them.

“Josie?”

“Oh. Leo needs to tell you. Not me. I know it’s not fair since we’re friends, but he’s my brother. He would kill me if I went around blabbing his history with her.”

“I understand.”

“Maybe we can pool our money together and pay a cheap hitman.” She cuts her eyes toward me with a calculated look.

“You aren’t serious.”

“No. If I take out a hit, I won’t tell you. It’ll be on the down low with no accomplices. You can rest easy.”

“Thanks. I’ll remember to never make you mad.”

Josie looks at the menu I’m holding and points to the waitress behind the bar. The girl moves to stand in front of me.

“You guys need to hire some help,” Josie says to her.

“What can I get you?” The girl ignores Josie and asks me.

“Club sandwich and Diet Coke. Thanks.” I smile at the girl and turn to Josie.

Josie leans in. “I was sort of kidding about the hitman. But don’t put up with Tori hanging around. She’s trouble.”

Dane comes up behind me and squeezes my shoulder. “Hey sugar.”

“Hi.” I look back at him.

“Josie,” he says. “You teaching Harper all your bad habits?”

“Every single one.” She grins at him.

“Dane! A little help?” The girl tending bar calls to him.

He shakes his head. “Always a crisis. Catch you girls later.” Dane hurries away to the kitchen.

The rest of lunch goes by quickly, with Josie telling me stories of her bookstore customers and talking about a band she wants to see in concert. Even though I attempt to concentrate on the conversation, I can’t help but worry about her reaction to the subject of Tori.

I can’t understand Leo if I don’t know what he’s been through. The fact that he’s not telling me things is so familiar. Wesley never told me anything—what he liked, didn’t like, where he went. His past.

* * *

Leo has a fascinating way of working on his novel. He types frantically for at least five minutes. Then he pauses and sits back for thirty seconds with his hands touching the keys of his laptop. His fingertips move in a caress over the keyboard as he stares straight ahead. Then frantic typing again. It’s like his brain cycles in five-minute runs until he deposits all the words into the computer.

He rolls his head from side to side and sits back in the chair, then twirls it around to face me. “Is anything wrong?”

“No. Why?”

“You’ve been very quiet.”

“Watching the movie.” I point at the television with a lazy finger and tuck my feet underneath me on the sofa.

He stands and strolls across the room, eyeing me tiger-like and grinning. “I need a break.”

“Pretend I’m not here. Would you still be stopping your work?”

“But you are here.” He sits beside me on the sofa and takes my hand, kissing each knuckle with his soft lips and a smile.

Using my free hand, I reach across and move the piece of hair that’s fallen over his eyes. He catches my wrist and smells it. Literally puts his nose to the skin and inhales. “I have no clue what you are made of, but whatever it is, the smell makes me ravenous.”

“Scented lotion,” I mutter, hypnotized. Sitting this close, I can’t do more than concentrate on the perfect parts of his face and the imperfect parts I love even more. His crooked smile, something I thought he affected, but is all charming him. The wide mouth with lips that draw the eye.

His beautiful blue eyes. Some girls would call them ocean-colored or sapphire. To me, they’re heaven-blue.

“Nah. It’s pure you. I’m positive,” he says.

“What is?” I’ve lost the thread of our conversation. Concentrate.

My stomach makes a low rumbling protest. Getting home at the end of the day after working with dogs, I needed an immediate shower and then headed straight to Leo’s. I’d forgotten about dinner.

He chuckles and releases my wrist. “I’m hungry, too. I think I’ll run to the corner and get something for us. What do you want?”

“Lasagna.” I look down at my tank and sleep shorts. “Want me to change and come with?”

He shakes his head and gets to his feet. “Nah. You should stay. You’ve been on your feet all day. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Our building lies in the middle of every ethnic eatery a person can imagine—Thai, Mexican, Chinese—all served till late in the night. I know he’ll only be a half-hour if he orders ahead. Still, I’ll miss the separation of that short time. I reconsider running across and changing clothes.

I grab his free hand, the one not already dialing some number on his cell. “Hey.”

“What babe?” He holds the phone to his ear and waits for me to tell him.

“I want you to know that I’ve had the…” I search for a way to finish without sounding like I’m ready to throw on a wedding dress.

“Yes,” he releases my hand and holds up a finger to indicate I should wait. “Two orders of lasagna and a large salad. No. Does that come with garlic bread? Ok. Yeah. Thanks.”

I’d been close to saying it was the best three days of my life. “Nothing.”

He arches one eyebrow. “Methinks the lady tells an untruth.”

I lift one shoulder. “I’ve had a craving for lasagna for days.”

He smirks. “We’ll take care of this craving. I’ve had a certain craving all day.”

I feel pleasurable warmth creep into my face. “Is everything a sexual innuendo now? Go.”

Leo laughs. “I won’t be long.”

After he leaves, I stretch out on the sofa as if I’ve belonged in his apartment forever. The television is still on, the tiny fan on his desk still whirs, his laptop monitor still glows.

He’s left his life running and waiting with me in it. I’m not an outsider to him, but a part of his day. I hop up, walk to his desk, and let my fingers run along the worn wood. The things that he keeps nearby while he works fascinate me. There’s a shiny, very expensive pen on a pad where he’s jotted down words that mean nothing to me in their randomness.

And it’s not like he’s writing my name on the page, but I want to connect the words to me—beauty, lust, love, ache. A random phrase floating above a sun and stars and galaxy drawn at the top of his page. ‘One world struck by an asteroid and now its path has been rewritten.’

He must be brainstorming for his novel and those words help him. I feel guilty looking at the pad now in my accidental snooping, but it’s also intriguing to see the way he thinks. Across the desk, there’s a couple of envelopes he hasn’t opened.

At the edge, there’s a funny looking box. It’s fabricated to look like a thick hardback book, dark burgundy cover with gold embossed lettering. I reach and pull it to me. It looks like the type of storage box where you’d keep photos.

I can’t help myself. The lure of seeing pictures of Leo has me giddy. I lift the lid and it’s packed, but not with photos.

Postcards. Every shape and size. The top one has a colorful photo of the Brooklyn Bridge. I turn it over and read, despite the warning screams in my head telling me I should stop.

The next postcard has a mustache on it. And the next is a photo of a diner. There’s at least a couple of hundred in the box. My hands shake as I lift the stack up. I feel the weight of all the people who have written Mr. Expose—Leo. Their pain and fear and fury. Their pleas for help.

My plea and then my request to rescind. And the way he so coldly addressed my emails.

No wonder I didn’t find these the time I broke into his apartment. The box camouflages them so well. Leo’s written a range of dates on the paper stuck to the inside lid. Each white square has three lines for noting something about the contents. Although this one doesn’t list the time period of my postcard, I realize he could’ve found my postcard. Easily. If he’d wanted to.

I set the cards inside and turn slowly, as if I have a Tyrannosaurus rex breathing at my ear. Because that’s what it feels like—a realization so big, it fills the room and I can’t do anything but cut my eyes to the thing that’s been in front of me the entire time. This is where he hides the Mr. Expose postcards.

My pulse booms in my ears, sounding like the gong of a hammer hitting the inside of an empty barrel.

At the top of Leo’s bookshelf that spans one wall, there’s a row of book spines identical to the faux one on the box. Anyone looking would assume it’s a row of classics—books that he considers precious. They are on a shelf too high for me to reach without using the stepladder.

I’ve never bothered. All the books I’ve wanted to read are within my reach.

A knock at the door causes me to jump. I hastily make sure the box is back in place, that I haven’t screwed up his organized desk.

I walk to the door with my entire body shaking so badly that I might as well have ‘guilty’ stamped on my forehead. The right thing to do would be to stay silent and not attempt to answer the door. It’s late and I doubt if it’s Josie.

My instincts scream a bad feeling as I squint into the peephole. Tori. I should’ve known better. There’s too much between them that I don’t know about. Besides, she’s everything I’m not—confident, beautiful, and sexy. With my heart in my throat, I examine her. She’s wearing a tight, white, silky tank and an extremely short mini-skirt. A sit-the-wrong-way-and-flash-your-panties skirt.

My hand is on the knob. Why is she here? I heard him tell her that she’s not to come back. My fingers curl into my palms. Open it or ignore her?

I open the door because I want her to see me and to understand once and for all that she needs to back off. Leo wants me in his life.

She eyes me and looks over my shoulder. When her gaze returns to mine, it’s dismissive, as though I don’t matter. “I’m here to see Leo.”

“He’s not home.” I cross my arms over my chest.

“Oh.” She cocks her head to one side and her judgmental gaze travels from my face down the length of my body. My pajamas aren’t meant to be sexy. It’s a comfortable, cotton set that I’ve worn for a while.

I hope my clothing says I don’t have to try hard to have Leo. That he likes me just the way I am. “Do you want to leave a message?”

Her mouth forms a straight line in a half-smile, half-grimace. “I don’t think I do. I’m sure I’ll see him later.”

“OK, then. Bye.” I move to close the door and she puts a hand out to stop it from shutting.

“Listen. I’m not your enemy. I’m sure you are very nice. And that we could be friends under different circumstances. But Leo is not over me. I hurt him really badly and I’ll never forgive myself for it. I don’t want you to fool yourself. You’re only a rebound for him.”

I’m shocked at her gall. “I heard him tell you to stay away.”

She studies her shoes that make her legs look incredible. I imagine one well-placed kick to her shins making her topple. Hopefully, I’d leave a nasty bruise.

Tori looks up at me. “He’s afraid I’ll hurt him again. And I can’t blame him for being scared. But Leo and I are getting back together. I plan to leave my husband so I can be with him. Leo begged me to get a divorce.”

I suck in air. Tori is married? She and Leo were having an affair?

My head feels light and my body numb. This can’t be true. She’s a liar. Josie would’ve told me something like this. Then I remember that Josie didn’t really tell me anything.

“Sorry,” Tori says from somewhere miles outside my head. “I can tell you really like Leo. But he’s not over me and I’m not over him. Take my advice. Step back before you get your heart broken.”

Without responding to her—because my response still might be to kick her in the shins—I back away and quietly close the door.

Tori’s statement about being married has to be true. I could ask Leo and easily confirm what she’s said. He would date a married woman?

Can a man not be faithful to one woman? Are all men liars and cheats?

A fissure cracks open the wounds in my barely healed heart.

Why am I so afraid to know the truth from Leo and to tell him the truth?

I feel my doubt hacking away at my heart—a wooden moll splitting my very core—tearing me in two.

I glance at the wall clock and then at the box of postcards and back to the clock. Leo will be back soon.

I should get the card now, in case Tori is right. In case I’ve been a fool, a rebound, a temporary replacement. I was wrong about Wesley and I could be wrong about Leo.

He cannot post my card in Mr. Expose.

He’s not told me everything and I can’t trust him.

I scoot a wood ladder over from one end of the bookcases. The books with the faux spines matching the box are at the top and I pull the one on the end out and balance it. Lifting the lid, I examine the dates inscribed on the inside label.

Not the right one.

Matching Leo’s meticulous personality, the boxes are in chronological order on the shelf and it takes only minutes to locate the one that should have my card. My heart slams against my ribs.

I finger through the cards. Several slip out of my grasp and litter the floor.

With one foot in the bookshelf and the other on the ladder, I lean on the books and try to breathe. All I have to do is stay calm and get my postcard. I’ll hear him walking up. I can always hear him.

As I use my thumb to fan the cards, the pink postcard suddenly appears. Score! I exhale and move down the ladder so I can pick up the mess I’ve made.

Click. My skin tingles in alarm.

“Hey babe.” Leo stands in the doorway with two takeout bags and a look of utter confusion.