Kept by Sally Bradley Page B

her building, they waited for an elevator.
    Dad’s fingers trailed across a paneled door. “Did you know,” he said, “that this building used to house Encyclopedia Britannica’s offices? I dreamed about working here.”
    She flashed him a smile.
    An elevator dinged, the doors opened, and a familiar, older couple stepped out, talking over their shoulders to people behind them. Garrett and Tracy followed.
    “Miska!” Tracy engulfed her in a hug, her faint floral scent following. “How are you?”
    Miska flashed her a smile to let her know the morning was no longer an issue. “Just fine. How are you all?”
    Dillan walked out of the elevator, behind him the brunette who’d spoken in his ear that morning.
    Up close she looked several years younger. What was she doing here?
    “We showed Garrett’s parents the condo. Oh, Shari, Dave—” Tracy touched the older woman’s arm. “This is Miska, Garrett and Dillan’s neighbor. Miska drove Dillan to the ER.”
    Shari’s mouth formed an oh , and her eyebrows rose. “Thank you so much. We couldn’t believe the pictures Garrett sent. So much blood.”
    Miska could feel Dillan’s embarrassment. “It’s not a big deal. I was happy to help.”
    The brunette spoke. “We’re pretty sure he would have bled to death if you hadn’t been there.”
    Garrett elbowed Dillan. “Told you.”
    Dillan sent Miska an uncomfortable smile.
    Shari pointed toward the brunette. “You haven’t met our daughter. She just got home from college.”
    The brunette held her hand out. “I’m Jordan. As in Michael.”
    Miska smiled as she shook her hand. A sister. “Of course. Who else?”
    Dave Foster broke in. “I wanted to name the boys Butkus and Ditka, but Shari said no.”
    “Thank you, God,” Garrett muttered to the ceiling.
    “So what are you up to?” Dillan asked, his eyes flicking toward her dad.
    Miska introduced her dad who shook hands with everyone. Small talk continued for a few minutes. The Fosters were off to the Art Institute before heading home. Miska wished them a good time before saying good-bye and calling another elevator.
    Once inside, the doors shut, Dad spoke. “Seems like you’ve got good neighbors there.”
    “So far.”
    “That tall one—you know him very well?”
    “A little. Why?”
    He shrugged. “He was watching you.”
    A tingle zigged across her shoulders. “So?”
    “So I think he’s interested.”
    “Not Dillan. He doesn’t date much.”
    “Then I would take him seriously. A guy like that focusing on you—”
    “Dad.”
    “Trust me, Miska. I know men. He’s interested.”
    Could that be? Quiet, serious, Mr. No-Emotion Dillan Foster? She watched the floor buttons light up and tried to ignore the thrill that wafted through her.

Chapter Twelve
    Dad’s words stayed with Miska. Was Dillan interested? If so, what should she do about it?
    Because in eleven days, Mark would be back in Chicago.
    Other than his apology text, which she’d replied to, she’d heard nothing from him. Then again, he’d had a big series at home against the Cardinals and was starting a long road trip on the West Coast.
    So what, if anything, should she do about Dillan?
    She couldn’t lie to herself—the man intrigued her. And like Mom said, one never knew…
    The memory decided for her. She’d make lasagna and invite him over. See where things went.
    On Monday, Miska woke to a downpour and lightning. She dressed, brushed her teeth, and pulled her hair up before heading to the seventh-floor gym.
    Garrett was just leaving, his shirt sweat-soaked, hair threatening to drip on her. “Miska,” he said, his voice full of sunshiny cheer. “How have we not crossed paths here?”
    “Blame the weather. I prefer running outdoors.”
    “You and Dillan both.” He shook his head as he left.
    Miska chose a treadmill beside a window and warmed up before setting an incline. As she ran, she watched the wind whip rain through the small space between the buildings, watched