Part 15 (1/2)
”I can understand that.” He picked up his water gla.s.s. ”Did you like the city?”
”New York? G.o.d, yes. I loved it and not just the glamorous parts. I liked the way those street vendors' carts smell. You know the ones. With the roasting nuts?”
He nodded.
”And when I walked down Fifth Avenue at night, I could see that the sidewalk had flecks of mica or quartz or something in it that sparkled under the street lamps. I liked the rush of the taxis and the shouts of the drivers. The horns. I liked Times Square with all the people and the lights.” She cut herself off abruptly, as if enjoying the memories was too much of a guilty pleasure.
”Do you get down much anymore?”
”No. Although I do fantasize sometimes of moving there still. Which is ridiculous.”
”Why?”
”It's never going to happen.”
”Why not?”
Her brows twitched and her mouth flattened into a thin line. ”There's White Caps for one thing. And my family. Joy needs me.”
”But she's in her mid-twenties now, right? She's an adult so you're free. What's holding you here?”
She waved her hand through the air, as if his challenge was smoke she could bat away. ”Let's change the subject.”
”Why?”
”Because you're my chef, not my psychiatrist.” With that, she picked up the bottle of wine and seemed a little surprised when it was almost empty. She looked at his gla.s.s, which was full. ”You didn't like the taste?”
He shrugged. ”I'm not a big drinker. The stuff's good in sauces and to clear the palate. Otherwise I avoid alcohol.”
She sat back, studied him. ”Any particular reason?”
”My father was a drunk.” Her brows lifted with compa.s.sion. ”Yeah, the smell of mixed drinks, especially anything with scotch in it, reminds me of him so I can't stomach the hard stuff. Wine's part of my job so I have a professional relations.h.i.+p with it.”
”Do you see your father at all?”
”He's been dead for almost five years.”
She put her fork down. ”I'm sorry.”
”I'm still not sure if I am, to tell you the truth.”
Frankie considered him thoughtfully. ”And your mother?”
”A little of her goes a long way. Fortunately, my brother tows the mark on that one. He takes care of her, thank G.o.d.”
”Is she ill?”
”Healthy as a horse. But she could never support herself.” Not with the kind of money she burned through on a monthly basis.
Frankie pushed her food around. Her face was full of concentration, as if she was trying to frame a difficult question.
”Have you ever been married?” she asked abruptly.
”No.”
She fiddled with her mashed potatoes. ”You say that as if marriage is an ugly thing.”
His chest was speared again and his eyes shot over to the children at the counter. He thought of Celia, the woman he'd almost made his wife because he'd gotten her pregnant. The woman who'd taken his child away from him by going to a clinic and terminating the pregnancy.
Their pregnancy.
”You need any dessert?” he asked, not interested in food anymore.
”Don't you want a family someday?”
”Nope.” He'd already tried that and had gotten burned so badly he couldn't stand to be around kids anymore.
”Have you ever been in love?”
”I thought we weren't going to be friends,” he said gruffly. ”So what's with the personal questions?”
”I'm just curious. Most people want to get married eventually, settle down, have-”
”Not me.” There was a pause as she seemed to digest the brush-off. ”You want a doggie bag for all that?”
She looked down at her full plate.
”George would like this,” she allowed.
He called the waitress over and managed to pay for dinner before Frankie could. When they stood up to go, she looked over at David and his daughters. Gave them a little wave on the way out the door.
Thanks to the surfacing of both his past and hers, the air was thick between them as they walked over to the Honda. Parked next to it was a ma.s.sive, s.h.i.+ny Mercedes Benz.
”I should drive,” he said.
She tossed him the keys and then eyed the luxury sedan. ”David always did like a big car. Fortunately for him, he could afford them.”
When they were on the road, she looked over at him. ”I don't want to go home yet.”
”Fine with me. Where to?”
”Let's just drive. I don't care where we end up.”
Frankie rolled down the window. She hadn't eaten much and the wine was doing its job, making her body lethargic and her head fuzzy. Because she was looking for a diversion and also because she really wanted to know more, she was tempted to press Nate about his past. But he was right. There was no need for her to be asking questions about his love life.Although she had to wonder about the bitterness in his voice when he'd spoken about marriage...Had some woman done a number on him? If so, she couldn't blame him for not wanting to go into his ex-files. David was a hot b.u.t.ton for her, too.
She looked at Nate. ”I hate running into him.”
His eyebrows rose. ”David?”
”Every time I see him, he's wearing the same hangdog expression he had on the day I called off the engagement. It's like he knows he was a coward. And maybe I should get some perverse pleasure out of the fact that ten years later he still feels badly, but I don't. I see him and his children and that fancy car and I want to remind him that he has it all. What the h.e.l.l is he moping about? He's enjoying the big life in the city while I'm stuck here sc.r.a.ping out a living.” She expelled a breath, anger surging as she imagined confronting him. ”So don't come up to me looking like you're mourning something you're no doubt tickled freakin' pink that I let you bow out of gracefully! And grow up while you're at it! Be a man!”