A Man She Couldn't Forget

When he drew back, Max asked, “How is she?”

“She’s home.”

“I thought maybe. I saw the open door. I can help now. I got some time off.”

“You did?”

“I said I’d help.” He dropped his big form into the mahogany leather chair and propped his feet up on the ottoman.

“I know, but she’s not your favorite person anymore.”

His dark eyes narrowed and he ran a hand over his shaved head. Brady remembered when he’d worn it in an Afro. “No matter. If Dee and I don’t help, you’ll run yourself into the ground.” He glanced at the desk. “Or worse, put aside your work again to help her.”

Brady wasn’t up for an argument, especially one they’d had so many times. “Want something?”

“No, I’m going to catch a nap. Long flight.” Max was a pilot for a private company and had been flying his boss around the country while Clare lay in the hospital. “I won’t say any more after this, but I gotta get one thing off my chest.”

“Max…”

“I love you, bro. I don’t want her to hurt you. Be careful and protect yourself.”

“Point taken.”

When Max left, Brady found it impossible to get back to his book. Again, he pushed away from the desk, got up and headed to Clare’s condo. This time, he went in and found her in bed on her side, her hands under her face like she always slept. The pretty green sheet had slipped off, so he tucked it around her. His whole body responded to the sight of her, and the scent of her that permeated this room. Hell, this was all he needed now.

She looked so fragile, bruised and fearful, even in slumber. Her brow furrowed and she turned over fitfully. How on earth could Brady abandon her now?

Because she abandoned you. And Dee. And Max. Even her own sister.

He shook his head. It didn’t matter. He had a Clare hex on him, and nothing could dispel it. He’d felt this way since the first day he met her…

“THE MEAL WAS TERRIFIC.” Brady lazed back in his chair and spoke to Josie, the owner of Meloni’s. This place was Max and Don and Delia’s favorite restaurant, and his other cotenant in the house worked here. Having recently moved into the old Victorian, Brady had yet to meet Clare Boneli.

“Our assistant chef made it.” The small, white-haired Italian woman smiled. “Which of course is why you’re here.” She picked up Brady’s credit card—he insisted on paying—and smiled at his friends. “I’ll be right back. Want something else?”

“Cappuccino would be nice,” Don suggested. “Maybe the chef can join us.”

“Sure. She’s cleaned up already.”

When Josie left, Brady asked, “That meal was something. Where did she learn to cook like this?”

Delia grinned like a proud mama. “After college, she went to culinary school, then she studied in France awhile.”

She explained more about Clare’s background until they heard, “Talking about me behind my back?”

Turning, Brady saw a slender blonde with eyes the color of grass carrying a tray of mugs.

“Yep, I’m filling Brady in.”

Brady stood, took the tray and set it down. “You must be the chef.” He held out his hand. “I’m the new tenant, Brady Langston.”

Her grip was firm. “Clare Boneli.”

They both took seats.

“Your Zucchini Boneli was wonderful.”

“My grandmother’s recipe.” She motioned to the mugs she’d set on the table. “Drink up before your cappuccino gets cold. I poured myself one, too.” She wore plain black pants that accentuated long legs and a white blouse that accentuated…He dragged his eyes to her face.

“Most of her recipes come from her extended Italian family,” Delia said. “But she puts her own pizzazz in them.”

A blush kissed Clare’s cheeks. It was adorable.

Brady sipped his cappuccino. “The drink is different, too. What’s in it?”

“A dash of nutmeg.”

“Unusual. As was the zucchini. What’s its secret?”

“Fresh zucchini, for one. I used to go out to the garden with Grandma and pick it. Couldn’t let it get too big, though, or it would be tough.”

“Did you spend a lot of time with your grandmother?”

“I lived with her.” Real sadness filled her eyes. “My parents were killed in a car crash when I was ten. Grandma and Grandpa moved to America to take care of us. Grandma only died five years ago. I still feel her loss.”

“I’m sorry.” Brady cleared his throat. “My dad died recently.” The expression on her face was so empathetic, at that moment he felt a strong connection with her. “It’s hard for me. But you were so little when your parents died. That must have been really tough.”

“It was. Grandma Clarissa was wonderful, though. She taught me to cook.”

“Her and culinary school and France.”

Clare shook her head. “You have to stop bragging, Dee. Let Brady get to know me on his own.”

“Finish telling me about the recipe.”

“Along with extra sausage, I use cream and butter in the mixture.”

He patted his stomach. “Oh, man, I’m going to have to work out extra hard tomorrow to stay in shape.”

“Hmm. Maybe we can run together. I can’t get Don or Max to go with me.”

A huge grin. “I’d like that.”

After they’d gotten back to the house and Max and the Kramers had gone to their respective places, Brady and Clare had talked long into the night. About their pasts. Their families. Their successes and failures.

She’d had big dreams then, as had he. They’d shared those, too. Who knew that, in the end, those dreams would pretty much destroy their relationship?

CHAPTER THREE