Free Come Alive by Jessica Hawkins Page A

dollar bills
from my wallet.
    “Hey,
go easy on that ice cream, honeybee.” My heart leaped, and I turned to see
David filling the doorway. He tilted his head and smiled at me. “What are you
doing here?” he asked. “Shouldn’t you be over on Adams, making some Bachelors
miserable?”
    I
just stared, blinking as sunlight illuminated him from behind.
    His
eyebrows folded. “Are you all right? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
    “No,”
I replied as his cologne slowly wafted into my orbit. “I mean yes, I’m fine.
You startled me.”
    “Well,
I do work right down the street.”
    “I
know . . . .”
    “Of
course you do. Is that your lunch?”
    I
followed his curious gaze to my hands. “Um. No, I – I . . . , ” I stammered. I fumbled to set it on the counter. I
shouldn’t be there. To run into him was one thing, but I had sought him out. Grasping
the strap of my purse, I hurried to the doorway, where he swiveled to let me
through.
    “I
never got to tell you how much I enjoyed the issue.”
    My
head shot up, but I continued my stride. “What?”
    “The Most Eligible issue,” David said. “The
feature had a fresh, creative touch. You deserve that promotion.”
    “Oh.”
I slowed fractionally to sync with his relaxed gait. “Thanks.”
    He
handed me the ice cream sandwich. “ Here. ”
    “Did
you steal this?” I asked with widened eyes.
    He
laughed loudly. “No, of course not. I bought it for you.”
    After
a slight hesitation, I accepted it and started to peel away the wrapper.
    “What
did you think of my part?”
    “Hmm?”
I asked as I took a bite.
    “The
article. What did you think?”
    I
swallowed and feigned interest in the sidewalk. “Your pictures caused quite the
commotion.”
    “What
did you think though?”
    “I
thought . . . , ” I paused, exhaling loudly. “I thought
that you looked very handsome. Lisa did a nice job.”
    “And
the interview?”
    I
squinted ahead and took another bite of the softening ice cream. A young guy
dropped his skateboard on the ground and zoomed by us. “I didn’t read it.”
    We
stopped at a corner and waited for the light to change. I looked up at him as
vanilla dripped down my fingers. I tried to convey with my eyes what I couldn’t
with my words. That I hadn’t read it because it was too
painful. That since the day I’d left, I could never forget the hurt in his
eyes. Even in my heels, my head was almost vertical when I said, “I’m sorry.”
    He
sighed and nodded his head toward the green light. “This might be one of our
last warm days,” he commented once we were walking again.
    I
wanted to laugh. The things left unsaid were almost palpable between us. But it
was better that way; so instead, we would talk about the weather. “That’s fine
by me,” I said. “I love Chicago in autumn.”
    “Me
too,” he said with a smile. “What’s your favorite thing about it?”
    “Probably
the way there’s something electric in the air just as it starts to cool down.
Also, that I get to wear boots again.”
    He
laughed and rolled his eyes toward the sky. “Typical.”
    “What
about you?” I asked.
    “I
take my sister’s kid to pick apples a couple hours away. That’s my favorite
thing. That and the weekend mornings when you wake up and your bed is so warm
and you have nowhere to be . . . .”
    My
face fell as the fantasy of waking up in his arms, pressed against his hot,
hard body flashed through my mind. So much for a safe topic.
    When
I glanced up, he wore a roguish smile. “And who doesn’t love the foliage?” he
asked.
    “Of
course,” I agreed immediately. “The foliage is just beautiful in the fall.”
    His
shoulders shook with a silent laugh, and I looked away quickly.
    “When
my sister and I were kids,” he continued, “one of our chores was to rake leaves.
She hated it, but I didn’t mind. It gave me a sense of order. It agitated me
when they were strewn all over the lawn.”
    I
pictured David as a young man, his