flight home wasn’t until that evening. She didn’t have to run upstairs to pack. Not right away.
But she was tired. He might’ve been used to going without sleep for long periods of time, but she was unable to hide her obvious fatigue.
Still, she didn’t move any closer to that fancy door.
She was looking, too, as if she wanted something more from him than a handshake and a Nice to meet you.
But no way was he kissing her. No way was he stepping hip deep into that temptation. Except, damn, he wanted to, and he knew she knew because he could not, for the life of him, stop staring at her mouth.
“Do you want,” she started, and he knew she wasn’t going to invite him to her room—she had roommates. That just wasn’t going to happen. Not tonight.
Not ever.
“I better go.” He cut her off, unwilling or maybe just plain unable to turn down whatever she was about to offer.
But she spoke over him. “—to meet for a late lunch?”
“I can’t,” he said. It wasn’t a lie. “My flight’s at oh-eight-thirty.”
“Oh,” she said. “Wow. Well, then, you better …”
“Go,” he agreed, yet still stood there, like a fool. Wishing for things he couldn’t have. Knowing that he had to turn and walk away. He had to go back to the Sheraton and pack—and toss her business card into the trash can under the bathroom counter.
“I know you aren’t going to call me,” she said softly. “It’s okay. Don’t feel bad. I know that … Well, maybe in another lifetime, you know? I just … I loved last night. I loved meeting you.”
She touched him then, only briefly, her fingers cool against his face, and then she was gone, the gilded door shutting silently behind her.
It was for the best. It was definitely for the best. Those words drummed through Frank’s head as he passed the park where artists and vendors, palm readers and bead sellers had been set up, even after dark, even in the rain. It was empty now, littered with trash from the hardcore partying of the previous night.
It was for the best. For the best.
Motherfucking fool, motherfucking fool.…
Frank violently kicked garbage—plastic beer cups—out of his way. One wasn’t quite empty and it flew through the air, nearly hitting a woman who still sat by the park’s wall, raincoat up and over her head.
Her wooden sign was still out: Palms read, five dollars. Blind Maggie Sees the Truth was lettered in smaller print beneath the picture of a hand. She started awake—she’d been asleep sitting there—and even though she wore dark glasses, she turned and looked directly at Frank.
“You don’t have much time,” she said, her voice raspy, maybe from age or from sleeping in the rain, but probably from sleeping on the street in the rain at her advanced age.
“Not interested, ma’am.” Frank slowed down, but only to press his spare change and a few loose dollar bills into her hand.
But she caught his wrist, running gnarled fingers across his palm. “She loves you.”
For an old woman, she had a grip of steel. Frank could have pulled free, but not without knocking her out of her seat and dragging her down the street.
“You just met,” the old woman—Blind Maggie, presumably—insisted. “Her eyes … She has such beautiful eyes.”
As did nearly all the women on the planet. Frank was not impressed.
“She sees you,” Maggie intoned. “She loves you already—and you would walk away from such a gift?”
It was foolish. He was a fool. He should have thanked her for her advice. She would have let him go if he’d told her he believed her, and that he was going to get her five-dollar payment out from his wallet. The dead last thing he should have done was argue.
“She deserves better,” Frank said.
And just like that, the old woman kicked him—ow, Jesus! Right on the shin.
“Fool!” she used the same word he’d been using to chastise himself. “What’s better than loving and being loved?”
She’d let him go in the course of delivering a kick with that much force, and he backed away.
For a blind woman—right—she tracked his movement with unerring accuracy as he turned and saw—thank you, Lord—the Sheraton sign. His hotel wasn’t close, but it wasn’t that far either.
“You’ll break her heart!” Maggie shouted at him. “You’re going to break her heart!”
Frank turned the corner, but she kept on shouting. “You love her, too, and you didn’t even kiss her goodbye!”
And he stopped. Just like that. Fool. He was