Breaking the Greek's Rules

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She wanted to say, Why? But she didn’t want to hear his answer. Besides, asking would open a whole new can of worms.

“Not my line,” she said briskly as she slapped cheese between the crackers and made little sandwiches for Charlie.

“You do editorial. I’ve seen magazine articles.”

“Yes. But I don’t traipse all over the world. I work in the city.”

“The building is in Brooklyn.” He gave her a second to digest that, then added, “I seem to remember you cross the river.”

They had crossed the river together coming back from the wedding on Long Island. Daisy felt the walls closing in.

“Yes, I cross the river. If I have time. I’m busy.”

“Any time in the next two weeks,” he said smoothly. “And don’t tell me that every minute of your life is booked.”

Daisy heard the challenge in his voice. It was just another way of saying, I don’t believe you’re really over me at all. You still want me. And now that you’re divorced you might not believe in that ridiculous “love at first sight” notion anymore. You might be glad for a roll in bed.

And, if it weren’t for Charlie, heaven help her, she might.

“Are you still there? Daisy?” he prompted when she didn’t reply.

She drew a breath. “I might have something next week. Let me check.” It was the only way she could think of to prove to him—and to herself—that she wasn’t a weak-willed fool.

She put the cracker sandwiches on a paper plate, flipped up the latch and slid open the door. Charlie looked up and, at the sight of the plate, grinned and jumped to his feet.

Daisy put a finger to her lips to shush him before he could speak, grateful that she’d taught him almost since he could talk not to blurt things out where people on the phone could hear him. That way, she’d explained, he wouldn’t have to have a babysitter as often if she could take calls as if she were in her office when, in fact, she was at home.

Charlie had learned quickly. Now he stuffed a cracker sandwich into his mouth, then carried the plate back to his trucks. For a moment, Daisy just watched him and felt her heart squeeze with love. Then quietly she slid the door shut and went to look at her appointment book.

“Where in Brooklyn? What sort of photos?” she asked as she flipped through the pages of her day planner.

“Park Slope.” Alex gave her the address. “It’s a pre-war building.”

“I thought you were an architect. Don’t you design new buildings?”

“Not this one. I built this one from the inside out. The outside is pretty much intact, except for the windows. I fixed the windows. The place was in really awful shape and the guy who owned it wanted it removed. He wanted me to put up a new building there. But when I got into it, I couldn’t see tearing it down. Structurally it was sound. And it had some really strong period architectural features. It fit the block, the surroundings. So I made him a deal. I bought it from him and he bought land a couple of miles away. Then I built him what he wanted there, and I kept this one for myself.”