The Color of a Memory (The Color of Heaven Series) Read Online Free

Though I knew he was a shameless flirt—and I certainly didn’t trust him to be the sort of man I always imagined myself ending up with—I couldn’t resist him. I was flattered by his attention and becoming increasingly infatuated by the minute. He was just so darn attractive. The physical attraction knocked me completely off balance.
    At first he apologized for his physical incapacity and explained that under normal circumstances he would be a far more exciting cohort. He assured me he would be taking me to the beach, or bungee jumping, or dancing in a club. As it stood, he couldn’t even drive his car, so picking me up for dinner was out of the question as well.
    “How did you get to the hospital last night?” I asked. “Did you take a bus?”
    “David gave me a lift,” he replied, “and he picked me up afterward.”
    “That was good of him,” I said.
    “He’s the best.”
    Alex then invited me over to his place for lunch, and I could do nothing but say, “Hell, yes.”
    * * *
    When I pulled up in front of Alex’s house at noon, I was surprised by the look of the place. It was a white stucco century home with a rock garden and mature trees in the yard, situated in an established upscale neighborhood.
    I didn’t know what kind of salary firefighters earned, but I was quite certain that a young, single guy like Alex couldn’t possibly afford a property like this. Unless he came from money. Or had recently become divorced from an heiress.
    Gathering my purse and keys, I stepped out of my car—a beat up old ’76 Mustang I bought a few years back—and crossed the driveway to ring the bell. It took a few moments for Alex to answer, and when he opened the door, the first thing he did was apologize.
    “Sorry to keep you waiting. I can’t move very fast.” He stepped back to invite me in.
    “Where are your crutches?” I asked.
    “I get tired of picking them up and setting them down,” he explained, returning to the kitchen. “You’ll have to start calling me Hop-along.”
    I laughed and glanced around at the classic décor inside. The woodwork in the home boasted elegant turn-of-the-century character, but the furniture was sleek and modern. “What a beautiful home.”
    “Thanks,” he said, “but it’s not my house. It’s my parents’. I’ve been staying here for the past few days because my apartment is up two flights of stairs. No elevator.”
    “I see.” That explained things.
    “My mother’s been spoiling me,” he added as he gestured for me to follow him into the kitchen, which had obviously been remodeled recently with white cupboards, granite countertops and stainless steel appliances.
    “Are your parents here?” I asked.
    “No, Mom and my stepdad are at work. I’m going out of my mind sitting around here all by myself. I’m glad you could come over.”
    I shrugged. “Guess those are the perks of working the night shift.” I set my purse down on one of the chocolate-brown leather stools at the island bar. “And thanks for inviting me. It smells good…whatever you’re cooking.”
    “It’s just spaghetti,” he said. “I’m not much of a gourmet.”
    “Can I do anything to help?”
    He pointed to the bowl of salad on the counter. “You could take that outside to the back deck and grab a bottle of wine from the rack on the island. The corkscrew’s in the drawer below.”
    I moved to the floor-to-ceiling French windows and peered out at a teakwood table on a small, private flagstone patio. It was nestled cozily among lush and leafy elderberry hedges. Wild flowers bloomed everywhere, and colorful bird feeders and hanging glass ornaments made the space look like a magical fairyland.
    Grabbing the salad bowl in one hand, I pulled a bottle of wine out of the rack on the counter and carried everything out. When I returned for glasses, utensils and the cork screw, Alex was lifting the large pot of boiling noodles to the sink to pour into the strainer, managing quite