Happy New Year--Baby!. Marie Ferrarella
sank back on her heels. It was Dennis Lincoln. Now what?
Nicole flipped the locks and opened the door. She left one hand guardedly on the jamb, unwilling to invite him in. “Hi. Is there anything wrong with the television set?”
She’d been crying again, he realized. Her eyes were red rimmed and slightly puffy. Against all regulations and safeguards, something protective stirred within Dennis. He did his best to ignore it.
Dennis shifted the paper bag he’d picked up at the Chinese restaurant. Filled with small cartons of different entrées, the heat radiated through the paper, warming his hands. Following Nicole over the course of the last week, he’d learned little except that she had a fondness for Chinese food.
“No, the set’s fine. Great, as a matter of fact.” He grinned like a kid with a new toy, which was just the way he figured he was supposed to look, if possessing an oversize TV set had mattered to him. “Maybe you’d like to come over this weekend and watch something—with your husband if he’s around.”
Every muscle seemed to instantly tighten in Nicole’s face. The profile he had on her said she and her late husband hadn’t been close in the past couple of years, but they’d obviously been close at least once in that time. He glanced at her stomach. Still, he could see that he had just pulled the scab off a raw wound.
There were times when the job left a bad taste in his mouth.
Nicole lowered her eyes. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”
The stillness in her voice underlined the awkward moment. He didn’t want to amplify her pain. Dennis glossed over the moment. “I guess he’s not much of a TV buff. Well, then, perhaps you’d like to—”
He didn’t know, she thought. There was no reason for him to know, of course. It was just that Craig’s death had been such a part of her life in the last month and a half, she unconsciously assumed everyone knew.
She cleared her throat. “My husband’s dead, Mr. Lincoln.”
He let the appropriate concern register on his face. It wasn’t difficult. There was something about the pain in her eyes that drew it out of him naturally.
“Oh God, I had no idea. I’m so sorry.” She was really devastated about his death, Dennis thought. Logan had been a damn fool not to have appreciated her. “When did it happen?”
She took a deep breath, distancing herself from the words. “Almost six weeks ago. He was a professional race car driver. His car spun out on the track and hit a wall. They clocked him doing one twenty.” Craig had died just as he’d lived. Quickly. There should have been comfort in that, somehow. There wasn’t.
“I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to remind you, I mean—”
Nicole waved away his tongue-tied words. There was no need for an apology. “That’s all right. The story only made page three of the sports page. There was no reason for you to know.” She lifted her shoulders in a halfhearted shrug.
After all, it wasn’t as if her new neighbor had been an acquaintance. And not even Craig’s friends had come to pay their respects when Craig died. She didn’t recognize half the people who had attended the funeral. They were people who had populated his new life. Craig had changed from the darkly handsome, gregarious young man he had been when he had started out on the racing circuit. Success had changed him. Or maybe, it had just brought out the man he had actually been.
All water under the bridge. It had been a long time since she had been head over heels in love with Craig. In her heart, Nicole mourned the man she thought she had fallen in love with, not the man who had died. There were times when she believed that the Craig Logan she thought she had known never really existed except in her mind.
This was the point where Dennis was going to be sympathetic. He had planned it this way. But as the words rose to his lips, Dennis felt uncomfortable with the role he was playing. Whether or not she knew about, or condoned, her husband’s involvement with the Syndicate, this had to be a rough time for her.
“Listen, if there’s anything I can do—if you need anything—help around the apartment, something like that, I’m pretty handy when I find the time.”
Nicole shook her head. “I’m fine, really.” If she needed anything, she’d call maintenance before she’d knock on his door. He wasn’t anything to her, even if he did have kind eyes. “Oh, before I forget.” She dug into her pocket. “Here’s your key.”
He took it from her and she stepped back, ready to close the door. Her gaze fell on the package in his hands. There was a translucent stain on the bottom of the bag.
“Well, goodbye. I don’t want to keep you from your dinner.”
“You’re not, exactly.” He looked down at the bag. “This was my way of saying thank you for this afternoon. I bought dinner for two. You and your…” His voice trailed off, purposely lost in an implied apology. Dennis offered the bag to her. “Chinese food. Since you’re alone, maybe I could join you if I manage to have the feet in my mouth surgically removed.”
The aroma was tempting. It had resurrected her dormant appetite and his manner was disarming in a soft, puppy dog sort of way. Still, she hardly knew him. Nicole shook her head. “I don’t—”
He wasn’t going to give her the chance to say no. “I don’t have anything nearly this good waiting for me in my refrigerator.”
“Then maybe you’d better take it.” She pressed the bag toward him, but he didn’t accept it.
“Old custom, never take back a bag of Chinese food. It’s bad luck.” Then, before she could protest further, he opened the bag in her hands and looked in as if he didn’t already know what it contained. “Wonton soup.”
She loved wonton soup. Nicole struggled to remain strong. She pushed the bag back into his hands. “No, I—”
“With sweet and sour pork, lobster Cantonese and Moo Goo Gai Pan.” He raised his eyes to hers. She was weakening, he thought. Dennis felt pleased, but there was a faint trace of guilt as well. “I’ve also got fried rice and appetizers.”
Nicole could feel her mouth watering. What would it hurt? He looked harmless enough.
“I wasn’t sure what you’d like,” he continued. “Other than the fact that everyone likes Chinese food.”
She felt her mouth curving in a small smile. “You took a survey?”
His grin grew larger. “No, but I never met anyone who didn’t.”
There were probably people somewhere who didn’t like Chinese food, but she certainly wasn’t among their number. Nicole glanced at the greasy bag. “It looks as if your Moo Goo is trying to make a break for it.”
The bag was threatening to tear. Dennis spread his hand protectively over the bottom. An edge of the carton was already beginning to protrude. “I need someplace to put this down.”
She nodded toward his door. “Your kitchen comes to mind.”
Dennis glanced over his shoulder. “Sure, if you’d rather eat there. My cleaning lady was just in yesterday, so—”
That would account for the neat state of the apartment, she thought.
“No, I meant that you should eat it in your kitchen.” She really didn’t feel like having company. Talking about Craig had brought memories back to her. Memories that hurt.
He raised the bag. The blend of aromas was doing its own selling, but it didn’t hurt to push just a little. Obviously his attempt at conversation wasn’t enough to gain entry to her home or her confidence. And now he’d need to hire a cleaning lady. “It’s a lot of food for just one person and leftovers have a habit of turning a strange shade of green in my refrigerator before I get back to them.” One look into her eyes told him he had her. “Besides, I’d feel better about