Jerry was still going on about Martha’s eccentricities. “No, you’re fine,” she murmured to Mac. “This won’t take long.”
“Anyway,” Jerry said suddenly in her ear, “we’re both too tired to cook this evening. Why don’t we go out? We’ll take Brad, of course. He’ll want pizza, I suppose.”
Looking away from Mac, who was thumbing through a wallpaper-sample book to occupy himself while she finished her call, Sharon said, “Thanks, Jerry, but we can’t tonight.”
There was only a hint of disappointment in his voice. “I guess you already have plans for the evening. I knew it was short notice, but I thought it was worth a try. So…I’ll talk to you later, okay?”
She wondered if he was beginning to catch her hints that they should spend less time together. Now that she had forced herself to look objectively at their relationship and had come to the conclusion that it wasn’t going anywhere—more importantly, that she didn’t really even want it to—she saw no reason to continue. They should both feel free to pursue other…interests, she thought, glancing sideways at Mac. She hoped she wouldn’t have to spell it out to Jerry—that would be so awkward and uncomfortable—but she was prepared to do so if necessary. “Sure. We’ll talk later.”
It had been a brief, unremarkable conversation, on the surface no different from dozens of chats they’d had before. Yet Sharon had the odd feeling that she had just made a significant change in her life as she disconnected Jerry’s call and turned to Mac.
He looked up from the wallpaper book, his grave dark eyes searching her face. “Everything okay?”
“I hope so.” After putting the telephone away, Sharon tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, suddenly feeling shy with this man who had kissed her senseless less than forty-eight hours before. “Is there something I can do for you, Mac?”
He hesitated just long enough to make her aware of how many answers there could be to that particular question. And then he smiled. “Actually, I stopped by to give you my new address.”
“You aren’t staying at the motel now?”
“No. I’ve moved into an apartment on West Elm.”
“Are you pleased with it?”
He shrugged. “It’s clean, anyway. Better than a motel room.”
“It’s furnished?”
“The basics are provided. Enough to satisfy my needs for now.”
“What about linens? Cookware? Dishes?”
“I have all that. I carry a couple of boxes of necessities with me from job to job.”
She frowned. “It sounds rather bleak when you put it that way. Don’t you have a permanent home somewhere?”
“I own a house in Savannah. It’s rented out now.”
“So you’ve just been moving from job to job?”
“For the past few years.”
“You don’t have a family?”
“I’m divorced.”
“Oh.” She hadn’t really considered that he might have once been married. She wondered what had happened to his marriage. Why he lived such a lonely existence now. Had his heart been broken? “No children?”
“No.”
She studied his face. There’d been something in that stark single syllable. Something in his voice. A flash of emotion in his eyes. Pain? Regret? A touch of anger? Or was she letting her imagination get completely away from her?
He changed the subject before she could ask any more questions. “Are you finished here for the day?”
“Yes. I’m waiting for my brother. He was supposed to have been here half an hour ago.”
“He hasn’t called?”
“No. He went to a movie with some friends. They probably stopped by the arcade afterward and let time get away from them.”