I swallowed around the forming lump and lifted my chin, hoping for the best but preparing for the worst. I tensed for her anger. “It’s just me.”
The fine lines between her brows creased. That was the last look I remembered from years ago. She hadn’t been happy with me then, either. “How did you know where I lived?”
“I went to the engagement party. I’d expected to see you there, but when you didn’t show, I asked your brother.”
She suspiciously crossed her arms over her chest. There was a slight hesitation in her hawklike eyes. “You asked about me?”
“He said you couldn’t make it since you have a gallery exhibit coming up.” I gestured to the window. “I saw you painting.”
“What are you really doing here, Ash?”
That was the girl I knew: smart, with questions trying to determine my ulterior motives. It appeared she could also still read me.
“I have a meeting in town this week, so I came early. I thought I’d stop by and pay you a visit so we could catch up since my hotel room isn’t ready.”
Her gaze dropped to my duffel bag. “Just a visit, huh?”
“Just a visit.” I hefted the duffel bag up higher on my shoulder. “You look good, Stella.”
Her eyes were like windows into her thoughts. I could read the moment she decided to let me in regardless of whether it was just out of curiosity or she really was happy to see me. The sparkle in her eyes returned as a blush crept onto her cheeks. She stepped back, offering me entrance. “You still collecting secrets?”
“Everyone’s but yours.”
“That’s the only reason I’m letting you in.”
I followed her inside the brownstone. The light and airy hallway led into a living room, which was bare of personal paintings or family pictures. The downstairs space was a bit impersonable, but what did I know? Mine looked eerily similar.
“Put your bag down and come to the kitchen, and I’ll make us some coffee. You can tell me what you’re really doing here.”
I grinned. So smart. She could always read me. I dropped my duffel bag by the ornate stairs. “Hope I didn’t interrupt your early morning masterpiece. I know how much you like to paint in the sunrise.”
“It was a late night, not an early morning.” She grinned. “I was just finishing it up.” She turned into the spotless kitchen and grabbed two mugs from the cupboard before she brewed us both a quick cup.
A window above the sink looked out into a fenced, freshly manicured backyard. A flower garden was off to one side, and a birdbath sat near one of the large pine trees. The window was locked. The French doors that led outside looked the same. I gave it a tug, just to check. Yep; locked.
“Nice place you got here.” I turned to find her watching me as if trying to figure out why I was there.
“Thanks. I like it.”
She put my coffee cup down on the kitchen table and gestured to a seat.
I ditched my inspection of her poor security and sat down.
She sipped, watching me over the mug’s rim.
“You used to love working in the mornings. When did you change to working through the night?”
“I work when inspiration strikes,” she said, tapping her finger on the cup while waiting a beat before continuing. “So, my brother sent you, didn’t he?”
I smiled. “Who’s the mind reader now?”
“You can report back that I’m fine.”
“He worries.”
“And you?” A blush deepened on her cheeks. “Do you still worry about me, or does he have too much going on that he asked you to be his errand boy so he didn’t have to show up himself?”
“I’m here of my own accord. But to the question of whether I worry about you, I’d say even more now than before. Only the reasons to worry have changed.”
