“Excuse me,” I stated, startled. I had been so wrapped up in my own thoughts about work and Cohen that I walked right into someone. Oddly, a chill ran through me and I felt goosebumps rise along my arms. I was taken aback by my body’s response, not having been cold at all in the restaurant. It was the middle of spring and a beautiful, sunny day out. It wasn’t until he said my name that the puzzle pieces fell into place.

“Princess.”

Not Deborah.

Princess. As if he’d been saying it regularly for the past five years.

My head snapped up and my throat constricted. “R-Robert,” I stuttered. My voice was airy, just as it seemed to always be around him.

“What are you doing here?” he questioned, his dark brown eyes lingering on my face, as if trying to memorize a beautiful painting before the museum took the exhibit down.

“I-I live here,” I blurted out.

His head lifted and he looked around the hotel’s lobby which we were standing in.

“You live here?”

I shook my head, feeling silly. I tried to take a step back, seeing that we were nearly touching, chest to chest, but it was then I realized he still held my elbow in his grasp. Not too tightly, but firm enough that it would take a little bit of work for me to get away … if I’d wanted to. Strangely, I didn’t have the inclination to move from his grasp.

“Yes, here in the city,” I responded finally. “I’ve been here for a while.”

“How long is a while?”

“Five years.”

His eyebrows rose. “You moved to Williamsport right after graduation?” he surmised.

I swallowed, nodding. I glanced downward toward the floor, unwilling to allow him to see the anger in my eyes that rose when I remembered how long it’d been since I’d actually seen him. That final day of our ski trip. The morning after we’d slept together and he hurried out of the room for only God knew what.

“You’ve been under my nose this whole time.”

The anger in his voice was what brought my gaze back to his. My head jutted backward in surprise. That was when I finally pulled myself from his embrace, stepping back in an attempt to break the spell he seemed to have me under.

“Under your nose?” I reiterated, partially to make him realize how ridiculous and possessive he sounded.

But in typical Robert Townsend fashion, shame was nowhere on his radar. He simply stared at me, nodding as if what he’d said made sense.

“Robert! We need to be going,” the sharp edge of the male’s voice grabbed both of our attentions.

I was able to catch an agitated expression marring Robert’s handsome face before he turned, glancing over his shoulder at the man who stood a few feet behind him. The man was an inch or two shorter than Robert but much more robust. His face was reddened and looking just as agitated as Robert’s had a moment ago. Despite the dissimilarities in build and age, I could see the resemblance between Robert and the man. This was Robert Townsend Sr. I’d seen his face many times in the business pages of the national and citywide newspapers.