Free Finger Prints by Barbara Delinsky Page A

smile.
    “Suddenly tired?” he teased lightly. “Givin’ up the race so soon? Tell you what. If you can keep up with me all the way back, I’ll spring for breakfast.”
    “Don’t eat breakfast.” She returned his banter more easily, steadied by the cadence of her pace.
    “Then lunch.”
    “Can’t. Too much to do.” If she hoped to get to the museum, she’d have to hustle through other chores as it was.
    “You’ve got to eat sometime.”
    “I’ll grab something on the run.”
    “That’s not healthy.”
    She shrugged and dashed him a sheepish smile that made his insides tingle. “I’ll live.” Then she tossed her head back. “This is it for me.” She made a wide circle around the lamp post she’d earmarked as her turning point, but was caught by the wrist and gently stopped.
    “Dinner at Locke-Ober’s?” His eyes gleamed. “How does that strike you?”
    “Very extravagantly.”
    “It’s yours for another mile in and then the return.”
    They stood facing each other, breathing deeply from the first leg of the run. “Why?” she asked softly, tipping her head up to eye him skeptically. “Why would you want to run with me? I’m sure you normally go much faster.”
    He shot her a mischievous grin. “Only when I’m trying to catch someone.” Then the grin faded and he grew startlingly earnest. “I’d like the company,” he said simply.
    The cars whizzed by them on Storrow Drive, much as life did to two people marking time. Carly felt it then, a kind of kinship with Ryan. In his eyes was a warmth, a sincerity, a loneliness she would never have detected had she not been so thoroughly familiar with it herself.
    “Locke-Ober’s?” she asked with a hesitant smile.
    “Ever been there?”
    She shook her head.
    “Lobster Savannah…shrimp mornay….”
    Her smile grew coy. “I’m listening.”
    “Caviar. Hearts of palm. Chateaubriand.”
    “Uh-huh?”
    “A ’79 Châteauneuf-du-Pape Blanc.”
    “Blanc?” She whistled. “You don’t fool around.”
    “Nope.”
    She hesitated for a final minute, then cautioned, “I couldn’t make it tonight.”
    “That’s okay.” He smiled, feeling suddenly victorious. “We could make it next week, the week after, any time that’s good for you.” Strange, he half wanted to put it off. The anticipation would be thoroughly enjoyable. It had been too long since he’d had something to look forward to. And, after all, there was no cause to rush. He wanted her to be comfortable, confident. Perhaps it was better to wait.
    Carly’s decision had nothing to do with caviar, lobster, or wine. It was based simply on that strange flicker of kinship she felt for Ryan Cornell. “You’re on,” she said quietly. Then, cocking her head toward Boston, she raised her brows questioningly. When he gave a smug nod, she broke into stride. He was right beside her. It was a surprisingly reassuring thought.
    For the most part they ran in silence. Carly’s thoughts were on the pleasure of the day and how secure she felt just then. Ryan’s thoughts were on Carly and the world of questions he wanted to ask. But she seemed reticent even now to say too much. He couldn’t help but wonder what made her so.
    The extra mile he had suggested brought them in view of the first of the Saturday sailboats. “Look. Pretty, isn’t it?”
    She nodded and gave a smile that dimpled her cheeks becomingly. “You mean to say I’ve been missing this all along?”
    “You bet. Actually, it’s kind of late in the season. There won’t be too many boats out. Most of them are already drydocked.” They ran on for a bit, enjoying the view, before he ventured to speak again. “You ought to see it at the height of the season. On a clear day, especially at sunset, it’s a beautiful sight.”
    “You’ve seen it at sunset?”
    “My office overlooks the river.”
    She directed her bobbing gaze toward the downtown skyline. “Which one is yours?”
    “You can’t see it from this angle.