Sarah Morgan - Sunset In Central Park

“Haven’t read anything for a month. Business has exploded. The moment my body hits the bed I’m unconscious.” He took another mouthful of food and glanced at the bookshelf again. “What’s the brown one on the end? I can’t see the title.” His tone was casual and she followed the direction of his gaze.

“It’s Stephen King. The Stand. Why? Do you want to borrow it?”

“No, I have that one, but thanks.” He gave her a thoughtful look and then returned his attention to his food.

Frankie had the feeling she was missing something.

“Is everything okay?”

“Everything is great. This omelet is fantastic. I didn’t realize you were such a great cook.”

“Food always tastes better when you’re not the one who cooked it.”

“You’re not eating?”

“I ate some cheese earlier while I started a new book. Reading food.”

He stuck his fork into the salad. “Reading food?”

“Food you can eat while you’re reading. Food that doesn’t require any attention. Can be eaten one-handed while I turn the pages with the other. You don’t know about reading food?”

“It’s a gap in my education.” There was a tiny smile on his lips. “So what else qualifies as reading food?”

She sat down and puffed her hair out of her eyes. “Popcorn, obviously. Chocolate, providing you break it into chunks before you settle down. Chips. Grilled cheese sandwiches if you cut them into bite-size pieces.”

He reached across the table and picked up the book she’d been reading. “The latest Lucas Blade? I thought this wasn’t out for another month.”

“Early copy. Turns out Eva’s favorite client is his grandmother, and I get to be the one who benefits from that friendship.”

“Well, now I understand why you need to eat while you read. I’ll borrow it when you’re done with it. I love his work. So that’s what you were doing when I knocked? You were sitting here reading?”

Frankie nodded. “I’m halfway through chapter three. Gripping.”

He put the book back on the table carefully. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure, although I haven’t guessed the twist yet if that’s what you want to know.”

“It isn’t.” He’d finished his food and put his fork down. There was a pause. Her heart started to thud a little harder.

He looked serious, but surely if something was wrong he would have said so right away.

“What do you want to ask me?”

He pushed his plate away and lifted his gaze to hers. “How long have you worn glasses you don’t need?”

Oh, God.

Had he really just said what she’d thought he’d said?

What was she going to say? She looked at him stupidly. “Excuse me?”

“When I knocked on the door you were reading, but I saw your glasses on the stand in the entryway so you can’t be long-sighted. Of course you could be short-sighted, but you read the title of that book perfectly just now. Which leads me to believe you’re neither.” His tone was neutral. “You don’t need them, do you?”

Flustered, she lifted her hand to her face.

Her glasses. She’d forgotten to wear her glasses.

She remembered taking them off when she’d walked through the door. She hadn’t put them back on because she hadn’t been expecting company.

“I need them.” What should she do? She could squint and trip over a chair, but it was a bit late for that. “It’s complicated.” Lame, Frankie. Lame.

“I’m sure it is.” Matt’s tone was gentle. “But the reason you need them has nothing to do with your vision, does it?”

He knew.

Horror washed through her. It was like arriving at work and discovering you’d forgotten to dress. “If you’ve finished, you should probably go.” She snatched the plate from him, her face burning. “Claws is scratching my sofa. And I need to get back to my book.”

The book she could read perfectly well without glasses.

Matt didn’t budge. “We’re not going to talk about this?”

“Nothing to talk about. Good night, Matt.” She was so desperate for him to leave she stumbled over the kitchen chair on her way to the door. The irony almost made her laugh. If she’d done that sooner, he might never have guessed. “Have a great evening.”

He stood up slowly and followed her.

“Frankie—” The gentleness of his tone somehow intensified the humiliation.

“Good night.” She pushed him through the door and Claws shot out with him, clearly unimpressed by the level of hospitality.

Frankie slammed the door, narrowly missing his hand.

Then she leaned against it and closed her eyes.

Crap, crap and crap.

Her cover was totally and utterly blown.

Matt let himself into his apartment and dropped his keys on the table.

He’d known Frankie since she was six years old and for the past ten years, since she’d moved to New York, she’d been a constant feature in his life. He didn’t just know her, he knew her. He knew she burned easily and always wore sunscreen. He knew she hated tomato, romance movies, the subway. He knew she had a black belt in karate. And it wasn’t just those basic facts that he knew. He knew deeper things. Important things. Like the fact that her relationship with her mother was difficult and that her parents’ divorce had affected her deeply.

He knew all those things, but until tonight he hadn’t known she didn’t need the glasses she always wore.

He ran a hand over his face. How could he have missed that?

She’d worn glasses for as long as he could remember, and he’d never once questioned her need for them. He’d noticed that she fiddled with them when a situation made her nervous or uncomfortable, as if they offered her some reassurance, but he’d never understood why her glasses would be reassuring. They were possibly the ugliest thing he’d ever seen. The frames were thick and heavy and an unappealing shade of brown, as if they’d been trodden into a patch of damp earth. They were unattractive, and knowing her the way he did, Matt was sure that was the reason she’d chosen them. They were armor. Razor wire, to repel unwanted intruders.

Relationships, he thought. Was anything in life as complicated?

Claws rubbed against his legs and he bent to stroke her.

Who was going to break the bad news to her that she was cute as hell with or without ugly glasses? The fact that she seemed unaware of it just increased the sexiness level. There was so much she didn’t know about herself.

The cat sprang onto the sofa, digging in her claws, and he gave a humorless laugh.

“Yeah, she’d probably do the same thing if I told her that. Dig her claws in me. Then she’d hide under the kitchen table. You and she have a lot in common.”

Grabbing a beer from the fridge, he took the steps up to the roof terrace.

The setting sun sent shards of red and orange over the Manhattan skyline.

New York was a city of neighborhoods, of buildings that rose tall and proud into the sky, of blaring cab horns, hissing steam and the never-ending noise of construction. It was a city of iconic landmarks: the Empire State Building, the Chrysler Building, the Flatiron Building. The ultimate dream destination for many, and he understood that. Tourists arrived and immediately felt as if they were extras on a movie set. You saw them pointing it out. That’s where they filmed Spiderman, or that’s where Harry met Sally.

And it was a city of individuals. The wealthy, the poor, the lonely, the ambitious. Singles, families, locals and tourists—they all crowded together on this patch of land that nudged the water.

“You going to stand there admiring your kingdom all night or are you going to share a beer with me?”