She closed her eyes, a pained look on her features. But when she opened them again, she seemed to be forcing a smile to her face. “Friends,” she said, holding out a hand to shake.

“Always.”

As she rose, smoothing a hand over her skirt, it was like watching the scene unfold in slow motion. He was here, but he was somehow floating above it all, watching it happen to someone else as she slung her purse on her shoulder, gave him a hug, and walked to the door, waving goodbye.

The sound of the door shutting stabbed him in the heart. This was the real hurt. This was the big wound. He headed for his kitchen and rooted around for a bottle of whiskey. He found one and took a long swallow, letting it burn.

Then another that scorched a path down his throat.

The night hadn’t gotten better at all. It had turned far worse.

Keep it together.

She repeated that mantra over and over as the elevator chugged to the ground level, then as she stepped out onto the marble floor of his lobby. With her chin up, she marched purposefully to the door, clenching her teeth so the doorman wouldn’t see her cry. She didn’t want to be that woman. The woman who leaves a man’s apartment in tears.

That night in New Orleans when she’d asked Nate to be her temporary lover, she’d never expected it would come to this. That a few weeks later, she’d leave his home heartbroken.

“Do you need a taxi, ma’am?”

The first tear slid down her cheek. Because this random stranger knew what she needed more than her best friend did.

“Yes, please” she said, and he scurried to the curb, thrust his hand in the air, brought a silver whistle to his lips and ten seconds later, was holding open the yellow door for her. He handed her a tissue, and gave her a sympathetic smile.

As the cab shot her downtown, the neon lights of Manhattan blaring by, she let all those bottled-up tears fall. She’d have to get them out of her system now, since they had a wedding to go to in four days.

25

New York, afternoon . . .

Indiana Jones jammed his snout under a bush along the path in Central Park, and after a few seconds of nose-to-ground recon, Nate tugged on the leash. The dog backed up and continued on the trot-like pace that his little Dachshund legs necessitated as Kat chattered on about something.

It had been three days. Seventy-two entire hours of not talking, not calling, not seeing her, and not touching her. Every single one of those hours was killing him. As if he’d been cruelly excised from her life. Or maybe he’d been the one who’d done the slicing. He didn’t know. He couldn’t figure out a damn thing. He’d gone for long runs in the heat of the late June mornings, he’d logged endless hours at the office, he’d finalized all the arrangements for the travel to Jack’s wedding. Every second he’d been aware of her absence.