Feels Like Family

“I remain attuned to my surroundings,” he contradicted.

“How is that any different from eavesdropping?”

“If you come with me, I’ll explain it to you.”

“I don’t want to come with you,” she murmured.

He fought a grin. “Do it anyway. Just think about what I’m offering—a hot-fudge sundae and someone willing to sit quietly and listen to all your woes. Do you know how many women would beg to be in your place?”

“I’m not one of them,” she claimed. “I just want to be left alone.”

“I’m sure that’s your usual way of coping with things,” he agreed. “Doesn’t seem to be working out so well today. How about trying something new?”

“Spilling my guts to you?”

He nodded.

She actually seemed to be weighing the offer. When she finally nodded, he felt a far greater sense of relief than he should have. He attributed that to having been spared tossing her over his shoulder and carrying her into Wharton’s.

“Let’s go, then,” he said, tucking her arm through his. “I’ll do my best to make this painless.”

“Whatever,” she said, sounding a little like a petulant child.

“Think of it this way. If you had to spill your guts to a shrink, you’d be paying a hundred dollars or more an hour. I’m a bargain.”

“And you’re throwing in a hot-fudge sundae, too,” she said grudgingly. “Is this my lucky day or what?”

“Told you so.”

It remained to be seen if it was going to be Erik’s lucky day or if this was going to be just one more step down a very slippery slope.

5

Helen avoided Erik’s concerned gaze and dug into her hot-fudge sundae. It might only be 9:00 a.m., but Erik had been right. The combination of rich vanilla ice cream, thick fudge sauce and whipped cream was just what she needed. She could barely remember what had thrown her into such an emotional tailspin and sent her fleeing from the spa and Maddie.

What the sundae wasn’t accomplishing, Erik was. He was a very disconcerting man. Few other men would have dragged her out for ice cream at this hour or even guessed that it was what she needed. In fact, most men would have been put off by her tears and run the other way.

“You ready to tell me what’s going on?” he asked eventually.

She took another overflowing spoonful of the sundae to avoid speaking and shook her head.

“Sooner or later you’re going to finish the ice cream and you won’t have an excuse not to talk,” he reminded her as he lounged on the seat across from her, seemingly content to sip his coffee while she made a total pig of herself.

“I’ll have to leave as soon as I finish this,” she said, pleased with the perfect excuse. “I’m already running late for work. Barb will send out a search party if I don’t show up soon.”

His mouth curved into a smile. “Okay, then. You’d better start talking now.”

“Look,” she said, “I skipped breakfast. That’s the only reason you were successful at persuading me to come here. My blood sugar must have been low.”

“And is that what made you cry in public?”

She shrugged. “It can have all sorts of weird effects.”

“Trust me, that’s usually not one of them,” he said.

He sounded very sure. She studied him curiously. “What do you know about it?”

“You have no idea how many pieces of miscellaneous information I have stored away here.” He tapped his head.

“But you said that with some authority,” Helen countered. “Is that because you read up on diabetes so you could keep an eye on Dana Sue?”

“Yeah, that’s it,” he said, but his expression had become shuttered. Helen sensed this was far from the whole story. Pushing aside the sundae, she put her elbows on the table and leaned toward him. Maybe she could avoid his probing questions by asking a few of her own. “I just realized that I know very little about you. Who are you, Erik Whitney? And what were you before you became a chef?”

“What makes you think I was anything before that?” he inquired.

“Because you’d just graduated from the Atlanta Culinary Institute when Dana Sue hired you. Unless you’re a very slow learner, which I doubt is the case, you must have done something before you went there.”

He seemed increasingly uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. “Look, the only reason we’re here in Wharton’s is so you can get whatever’s bothering you off your chest,” he reminded her. “This isn’t supposed to be about me.”

“But you’re so much more interesting, or at least your reaction is. What are you hiding, Erik?”

He regarded her incredulously. “What makes you think I’m hiding something? And what exactly do you think I’m hiding? Some nefarious past as a bank robber, perhaps? Or maybe you think I’m AWOL from the marines?”

“I’m an attorney. I deal in facts. I try not to have any preconceived ideas, which is why I’m asking you.” She tilted her head and noted the closed expression on his face. “You know what I find absolutely fascinating?”

“Not a clue.”

“You’ve gone all secretive and strong, silent type all of a sudden. Why is that, especially if you have nothing to hide?”

“No particular reason other than not liking to dwell on the past,” he said, his tone indifferent, but a tic in his jaw suggested he was anything but indifferent.

“Well, just so you know, it’s the kind of thing that kicks a lawyer’s curiosity into high gear. The art of a successful cross-examination depends on being able to read body language and expressions.” She surveyed him lingeringly, then added, “I’m considered to be very, very good at it.”

“It’s hardly the big deal you’re trying to turn it into,” he said. When she continued to pin him with her gaze, he finally shrugged. “Okay, here’s the condensed version. I was an EMT. I decided it was time for a change. There’s not a lot of drama in that.”

Helen was less surprised by the revelation than she probably should have been. It explained a lot about how observant he was when it came to Dana Sue’s monitoring her diabetes and the close eye he always kept on Annie and her eating patterns. Still, it didn’t seem as if it were something he’d want to hide, yet he’d obviously been very reluctant to reveal it. She couldn’t help wondering why.

“Did you like the work?” she asked.

“For a long time, yes,” he said, his expression still guarded. “Look, if you’re feeling better, I need to get back to the restaurant.”

“Running out on me just when things are getting interesting?” She shook her head. “It intrigues me that a man who was trying to dig around in my psyche just minutes ago can’t handle the idea of me asking personal questions.”

“I wasn’t the one having a public meltdown,” he said. “If you spot me having one, feel free to ask all the questions you want.” He tossed some bills on the table and was gone before Helen could formulate a response.

She stared after him, then distractedly picked up her spoon and ate the last few bites of her now-melted sundae.

“Now there goes one very sexy man,” Grace Wharton declared as she joined Helen. “How’d you let him get away?”