Next To You Read Online Free PDF

and light caramel, was tucked behind her left ear, while the rest dipped like a valance over the right side of her face. She rested her chin in her left hand, and scribbled notes on a pad of paper while she looked at the flat screen of a computer monitor.
    He took off his tinted glasses, squinting slightly in glare of the fluorescent lighting, and watched her. Something about her was familiar. Maybe it was her perfume, a verbena or citrus blossom scent, but he had walked through Women’s Fragrances on the ground floor just before he came up to the second level. The perfume sprayed downstairs might have drifted and clung to his clothes. He said, ‘Good afternoon.’
    ‘Pardon me,’ she said. ‘I didn’t hear you come in.’ As she set down the pen and looked up, she swept the hair from her eyes.
    Will chuckled. He’d seen her this morning, on his way back from the corner fruit market, at about six forty-five, when he’d been on his way home from picking up the paper and the very last of the summer nectarines. He’d passed her. She was running, lost in thought, and his ‘good morning’ had been lost as well. Now, instead of bleach-stained gray shorts and electric-orange running shoes, she was quite stylishly clothed, her outfit pale blue.
    ‘Well, this is nice.’ he smiled, tucking his glasses in the inside pocket of his jacket.
    Pleasantly, she smiled back, stood, and came around the front of the desk. ‘How can I assist you today?’ she said, smoothing the front of her tailored dress.
    ‘I should introduce myself. William Murphy.’ He offered his hand and got another hint of lemony verbena as she returned the handshake. ‘So, you’re the new Norelle who’s going to help me shop.’
    ‘To be honest, I’m the old Norelle. I worked here before she did, and I’m happy to help you shop, but I don’t think you need my help choosing clothes,’ she said, eyes traveling from his feet to his wide shoulders. ‘You wear that suit beautifully.’
    ‘Thank you,’ he said, and held her gaze.
    Caroline was surprised his direct regard was only minutely unnerving. His eyes were a light violet-blue, a cross somewhere between a pale tanzanite and iolite. She suspected he wore colored contact lenses, and guessed he was six-two, although with his extraordinarily fair Scandinavian complexion and satiny platinum hair he looked even taller. He was beefy, not fat or pumped up like some Mr. Universe contestant, but broad, solidly muscled, and very well dressed—Dolce & Gabbana well-dressed. He sported an original Heuer Monaco watch with a black leather band. There was a chunky gold signet ring on his equally chunky hands, and a beautiful pair of black, capped-toed Cole-Haan Oxfords on rather small feet. In his left hand he had a black fedora like Humphrey Bogart wore in the Maltese Falcon . Yes, he wore his clothes well. ‘I’m Caroline Jones,’ she said.
    ‘Like the actress who played Morticia on the old Addams Family TV show.’
    ‘Actually,’ she said, ‘she was Caro- lyn . I’m Caro- line , like the sweet one Neil Diamond sang about. It’s a pleasure, Mr. Murphy.’
    ‘No mister ,’ he said. ‘Just William, Will, or plain Murphy, and please, never Bill, Billy, or Willie.’
    ‘I’d never be so rude to call you Billy or Bill, and you certainly don’t look like a Willie.’
    His mouth quirked as he tucked a hand into a trouser pocket and set his hat on the desk. ‘Be honest. Willie makes you think of how the British use it, doesn’t it?’
    She laughed. ‘It does now.’
    ‘William and Richard,’ he shook his head, ‘two perfectly nice names forever ruined by English language slang. But I digress into off-color jokes that may be inappropriate. Sorry to waste your time.’
    ‘I like off-color jokes that may be inappropriate.’
    ‘So tell me one.’
    ‘I said I liked them, not that I knew any.’
    His laugh was deep, a rolling baritone that would impress an opera singer. ‘In my experience, the