He was coming up from the lower level of the Cotton Exchange, the cluster of old turn-of-the-century buildings that had been converted into a shopping complex near the river. She was sitting in the sun on a bench in the inner courtyard, and he was coming directly toward her. She would have liked to avoid him, but she had no place to go, and she was the only person sitting on the bench at the moment. He couldn’t help but see her—unless he deliberately chose not to, which, of course, was a distinct possibility. She was hardly the person whose company he would seek if left to his own devices. It had been nearly three weeks since he’d come to talk about Fritz, and Catherine had more than once toyed with the idea of telephoning him at the construction company to make inquiries about something that was none of her business. Yet she suddenly wanted to avoid him now, which was logical only in light of the fact that he was such an exhausting person to be around. He was so intense, and she had been able to feel the anger and the worry he worked hard to control.
