Книга Lone eagle — читать онлайн бесплатно полностью

He had long since recovered from the blow she had dealt him, although even thinking about her had pained him for a long time, and he had thrown away all his pictures of her. But he was fine now.

“I'm fine, how've you been?” She didn't tell him that she'd missed him. Good friends were hard to come by, and it had been a long time since she'd had someone to talk to like him.

“I've been busy. What are you doing here?” He seemed happy to see her.

“I live here. I work at the Metropolitan. It's fun.”

“That's nice.

I read about Joe everywhere these days. That's an incredible empire he started. Do you have kids yet?” She laughed at the question. It made an obvious assumption, which was not only incorrect, but now obsolete.

“No. I have a puppy.” She pointed at the dog food, and then decided to correct the assumption for old times' sake. “I'm not married.” He looked stunned when she said it.

“You and Joe didn't get married?”

“No. He's married to his airplanes. It was a good decision for him.”

“What about you?” he asked honestly.

He had always been straightforward with her, it was one of the things she liked about him. “How was it for you, his decision, I mean?”"

"“Not so great. I left. I'm getting used to it. It's been about a year now.” It had been fourteen months, two weeks and three days, but she thought she'd spare him the details. “What about you? Married? Kids?”

“Girlfriends. Many of them. Safer. No heartbreak.” He hadn't changed at all, and she laughed at his response.

“Good for you. I'll see if I can find you some more. There are lots of cute girls working at the museum.”

“You among them. You look great, Kate.” She had cut her hair shorter, mostly out of boredom. Her big excitement these days were manicures and haircuts, and the dog.

“Thank you.” It had been so long since she'd talked to a man her own age for more than five minutes that she wasn't sure what to say to him.

“How about a movie sometime?”

“I'd like that,” she said, as they wheeled slowly toward the checkout.

He had bought cornflakes and some soda, she noticed. And he was carrying a bottle of scotch he'd just bought at the liquor store. A bachelor's diet. “Shouldn't you at least have toast or milk with that?” she suggested and he grinned. She hadn't changed either. “Or do you just put the scotch on your cornflakes? I'll have to try that.”

“I drink it neat as a chaser.”

“What do you do with the soda?”

“I use it to clean my carpets.