Twice during the week, she’d mentioned looking for an apartment. Both times Andrew had managed to convince her to wait awhile.
She really should save enough for a decent deposit, he’d argued. Take the time to find a home she really liked, not just the first affordable place she could find.
He didn’t want her to leave.
It briefly occurred to him that he’d once thought he wanted a woman who had her own interests. Who wouldn’t expect him to entertain her. Who wouldn’t cling. He winced, finding the descriptions much too close to his own atypical behavior with Nicole.
If only he felt more secure in their relationship. If only he didn’t live with the constant fear that she would leave him as precipitously as she’d moved in with him. That he would grow more and more attached to her, only to be devastated when she was gone for good.
If only he knew how to ask her to stay.
Martha broke into his glum reverie when she appeared in the doorway. “The security gate guard just called. There’s an Amy Holiday wanting to get in. I think she’s Miss Nicky’s sister.”
“Tell him to send her through and give her directions,” Andrew instructed, curious about this unannounced visit. “I’ll let her in.”
Martha nodded and hurried away.
Andrew was waiting at the door when Amy came hurrying up the steps. He would have known she was Nicole’s sister without being told; the family resemblance was even more striking than it had been with Nate. Amy’s dark curls were cut short, framing her pretty young face, and her near-black eyes gleamed with enthusiasm and a hint of innocence that automatically appealed to that latent protectiveness Nicole teased him about so often.
Amy entered talking. “You’ve got to be Andrew. You’re as gorgeous as Nicky said you were.”
He could feel his cheeks grow warm. “Er—”
“Thanks for letting me in. I’ve got a major thing tonight and I was trying to press my black silk dress and one of my airhead roomies spilled soda all over it. I screamed, of course, because I don’t have anything else to wear, but she didn’t have anything for me to wear, either, since she’s two sizes bigger than I am. So, of course, I called Nicky at work and she said I could wear the black dress she wore New Year’s Eve. She said she just picked it up from the cleaners and I’m to tell you it’s hanging in the closet in the guest room, still in the plastic bag. So if you wouldn’t mind showing me where that is...”
He’d had to struggle to follow the breathless monologue. “Of course,” he said. “I’ll show you to the guest room.”
Amy kept talking as they climbed the stairs and rummaged through the closet to find the black dress. Andrew understood most of what she said—something about an awards dinner for a student organization she belonged to, and she expected to receive at least one award, and her date was picking her up in less than two hours and she didn’t know how on earth she was going to get ready in time.
“Couldn’t you call your date and have him pick you up here?” Andrew suggested. “Do you have everything you need to finish getting ready?”
Amy cocked her head in a gesture that reminded Andrew forcibly of Nicole. “Hey, that’s an idea,” she murmured. “I think I have everything—especially if I raid Nicky’s jewelry and wear her black heels. And she’s probably got some makeup here, right? Boy, won’t Justin be impressed when I call and give him this address!”
“Feel free,” Andrew said with a slight smile.
He hadn’t liked the thought of Amy rushing back to her place to change; she probably would have driven recklessly. And then he was wryly amused at himself for adopting that protective manner toward her that he’d been fighting all week with Nicole. But it was different with Amy, he decided. His automatic reactions toward her were decidedly big brotherly. His feelings toward Nicole were anything but.
“Where are the rest of Nicky’s things?” Amy asked, rummaging in the nearly empty closet. “I don’t see her heels or her jewelry box.”
He cleared his throat. “You’ll probably find those things in my room. Down the hall on the left. I’ll show you.”
She eyed him with a grin and a lifted eyebrow, but apparently decided not to tease him, to Andrew’s heartfelt relief.
Amy still wasn’t quite ready when her date arrived later. Wondering what in the world could take her so long just to put on a dress and some makeup, Andrew opened the door when the young man rang the buzzer. He glanced automatically out into the driveway, noting that Amy’s date had arrived in a souped-up red Firebird. Frowning, he studied the younger man, whom he judged to be in his early twenties.
“I’m Justin Wilcox,” Amy’s date said, extending his right hand after wiping the palm surreptitiously on the pants of his rental tux.
Andrew shook Justin’s hand. “Andrew Tyler. Come in, Amy’s not quite ready.”
Justin swallowed audibly. “Okay.” He followed Andrew into the den, then stood in the middle of the room, looking decidedly uncomfortable.
“Have a seat. Can I get you anything to drink? Soda? Juice?” Andrew had no intention of serving anything alcoholic. Even if Justin Wilcox was legally old enough to drink—and he hardly looked that—he would be driving Nicole’s young sister in that Firebird.
“No, I’m fine, thanks,” Justin said, and perched stiffly on the very edge of a chair.
Andrew hadn’t the faintest idea what to say to the kid. He wondered if this was how it felt to be a father meeting a teenage daughter’s first date. He tried to think back to some of those evenings when he’d been the nervous teen, but since he’d usually dated girls from his own social circles, most of their fathers had known his family for years. They hadn’t been total strangers trying to make conversation. He’d never been any good at that sort of thing. Unlike Nicole, of course, who apparently never met a stranger.
He was searching for something to say when Amy joined them. Andrew happened to be watching Justin when Amy appeared. The young man’s jaw must have dropped six inches, and his blue eyes glazed. Knowing what must have caused that reaction, Andrew turned to the doorway.