Aunt Mary lifted one fuchsia-booted foot. “Imitation croc skin, darling. Aren’t they absolutely hideous?” She was beautiful, intelligent, a successful partner in the Matalon family law firm, and therefore took great pleasure in dressing however she wished.

“Very striking,” Chloe nodded.

“You’re a doll. Now, who is this, darling? He’s very quiet. I so adore quiet men.”

Oh, God. The twinkle in Aunt Mary’s hazel eyes did not bode well. Surely the last thing Red wanted was to face the full, inquisitive force of that twinkle and all that it threatened. What could she say to avoid it? He’s my friend? That sounded like a euphemism. He’s a man I love spending time with and also want to lick, and I’d like to care for him, but I don’t really dare? That sounded like an inappropriate and inconvenient truth.

“He’s no one,” Chloe said quickly.

Aunt Mary cocked one perfectly threaded eyebrow. “What an interesting name.”

This situation, Chloe realized with a spike of panic, was rapidly getting out of control.

She could feel Red beside her, slightly behind her, and usually that might be reassuring. But after what they’d done tonight, and how uncertain it made her feel, and how awkward this was—well, his presence didn’t seem quite as soothing as usual. She couldn’t even bear to look at him. Her frantic gaze wandered over Mary’s shoulder, where she spotted a gaggle of exuberant fifty-somethings teetering about in high heels. “Don’t let me hold you up, Aunty. Your friends are waiting.”

Mary rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. They’re so drunk, time has become an alien concept.” She raised her voice from foghorn to rushing train. “I’m talking about you, Sheila! You gin fiend!”

“Aunt Mary—”

“Sorry darling, sorry, back to your friend. Do introduce us.”

“He’s the superintendent of my building.” Chloe was running out of options. Hopefully the mention of her living arrangements would prove a solid distraction.

“Oh,” Aunt Mary said, wrinkling her nose. “Your little … look, darling, I completely understand wanting to leave the family home. I told your mother many a time that they were suffocating you. But really, this communal situation—”

“It’s a life experience,” Chloe interjected. “Anyway, so sorry, but we’re late for a building-type meeting, so we must dash.”

Aunt Mary looked suspicious. “A building-type … ?”

“It’s something you do,” Chloe said wisely, “when you live in flats.” Aunt Mary had lived in mini mansions her entire life, both in England and as an infant in Jamaica. Hopefully, she’d have not a clue what people did when they lived in flats.

“How awful,” she said faintly. “I’ll let you get on, my darling.” She leaned in to kiss Chloe’s cheek and whispered, “I do hope you’ve asked your new friend for test results. Your immune system is very weak, and accidents do happen no matter the precautions—”

“Aunt Mary!” Chloe snapped. “Go away!”

“I’m off! I’m going!”

As her aunt hurried back to her friends, Chloe eased out a sigh of relief. “Well. That was relatively painless.” She turned, finally, to Red.

His hands were in his pockets, his eyes fixed somewhere over her head. He nodded slowly.

She swallowed. “Sorry. Aunt Mary can be overwhelming.”

“That what that was?” he asked mildly. “You being overwhelmed?”

Chloe twisted her fingers in the material of his jacket, zipped up over her dress. She had this awful, doomed feeling in her stomach. This disturbing certainty that he was upset. But she’d done the right thing, keeping him at arm’s length there, protecting him from misunderstandings that would only embarrass them both. Hadn’t she? “Mary, she just, she gets overexcited about things, and I didn’t want to give her the wrong idea. She’s my mother’s twin. They tell each other … things.”

He turned, started walking again. His pace was easy to keep up with this time, but he didn’t take her hand. “Right. And what would the wrong idea be? That we even know each other?”

He was upset. He’d misunderstood her reasons. The impulse to apologize tugged at her gut, so strong it felt like the urge to vomit. She swallowed acid and knew, all of a sudden, that she should’ve introduced him politely and dealt with wrong assumptions later. But she’d panicked. How long had it been since she’d let herself care about someone new, even the tiniest bit? She had no idea how to handle things like this, no idea what the parameters were—she barely even understood what uncomplicated meant when it came to two people touching each other.

She had to fix this, without slipping up and saying too much, revealing too much. Her mind raced. Her throat tightened.

In silence, they reached the line of taxis, waiting under harsh streetlights that ruthlessly illuminated his brilliance, her mistakes, and probably every pore in her T-zone. Before he could grab a car, she blurted out, “What should I have said?” She tried to make her voice light, teasing. “That you’re helping me get a life in return for a website?”

He softened slightly, laughed gently. “No. No, I guess you couldn’t tell her that.”

She laughed, too, or tried to, but it sounded off. Her breaths were strange, sucking in air when her lungs already felt full, exhaling harder than was comfortable. “You’re my … my badboy tutor,” she quipped. Ridiculous. She was being ridiculous. He would hate that.

His smile tightened. “I wouldn’t say I’m—”

“Services including but not limited to illicit orgasms.” Services? Why did she say that? Why, why, why did she say that?

He looked like she’d just punched him in the stomach. But only for a second. His mouth was a thin, flat line when he turned away from her. “Right. Yeah.”

It was guilt that burned away her panic. She felt as if she’d been body snatched for the last ten minutes. She blinked hard and smoothed her hands uselessly over her hair. “Oh, Red, I didn’t mean—”

“No, don’t take it back now,” he said calmly. “You’re already confusing the fuck out of me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“And I’m pissed. Good talk.” He strode away from her toward a taxi, bending to talk with the driver, his voice low and tight. His anger seemed to surround him like jagged spikes. Or like knives she’d shoved into his back. She was a sad little mess and an absolute traitor. He would never stand beside her and call her no one, no matter how awkward the situation was. Self-imposed isolation had eroded many of her social skills, but for heaven’s sake, could she be any more of a … a twat?

Apparently, she could. Because she knew she needed to say something, anything, that would fix the mess she’d made and erase the new, stiff way he held himself. But all through the drive home, she remained painfully silent.

And then they were back, and he walked her to her door, and she gave him his jacket. He nodded, he left.

And she hadn’t said a word.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Red sat on the floor of his studio, the afternoon sunlight glinting off the silver buttons of his overalls. It was Monday and he was on duty, but he hadn’t been able to focus since yesterday morning—when he’d woken up to an apology text from Chloe that he didn’t know how to answer. Ever since, two very different cards had been burning a hole in his wallet.