A Millionaire for Cinderella. Barbara Wallace
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that in mind,” Stuart replied. He looked impossibly at home, standing at the counter with a cat food can in his hand and Nigel weaving in and around his legs.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, only to realize how abrupt she sounded. They were supposed to be acting civil after all. “I mean, I thought you were visiting Ana.” That sounded much nicer.
“I got home a few minutes ago and Nigel met me at the door. Nearly broke my ankle demanding supper.”
“No way!” She purposely exaggerated her disbelief. “Good thing you weren’t on the stairs.” Her smirk couldn’t have faded even if she wanted it to. Go Nigel. Kitty earned himself extra tuna.
To his credit, Stuart had the decency to look apologetic. “Point made. I was wrong.”
“Told you so.” Since they were being civil, she kept the rest of her gloating to herself. Instead, she bent down to retrieve Nigel’s bowl, making sure she gave the cat an extra scratch under the chin when he ran over to see her. “How is Ana?” she asked.
His expression changed in a flash, growing somber. “They’ve got her on pain medicine so she mostly sleeps, and the couple times she did wake up, she was confused. The nurses told me that’s pretty common, especially at her age.” He breathed hard through his nostrils. A nonverbal but...
Patience felt herself softening toward the man even more. Seeing Ana so weak had upset her, too, and she had been around to see how active Ana had been. Goodness only knows how shocked Stuart must have felt having missed the last eight months. “I’m sure she’ll be back to her feisty self in no time,” she said, trying to reassure him. And herself, too, maybe.
“That’s what the nurses said.”
“But...?” There was a hesitancy in his response that once again left the word hanging in the air.
“Did you know one-fourth of senior citizens who break a hip die within six months?”
“Not Ana.” No way was he going down that road. “She’d kill you if she heard you. Besides, she broke an ankle, not a hip, so your statistic doesn’t apply.”
“You’re right. It doesn’t.” A smile graced his features. Forced maybe, but it erased the sadness from his face. Patience was glad. He looked much better with his dimples showing. Not that he didn’t look good when serious, but his appeal definitely increased when his eyes sparkled.
“And Ana would kill me,” he added, and they shared another smile before Stuart looked away to finish feeding Nigel. Patience waited until he’d scraped the sides of the cat food can before placing the bowl back in its place. “I was planning to visit Ana tonight,” she told him.
“Me too. Right after dinner.”
Shoot! She’d completely forgotten about dinner. Normally, by this point in the day, she’d have started cooking, but she’d been so engrossed in cleaning the windows—and trying not to think about Stuart—that everything else slipped her mind. “I... um...” Combing the bangs from her eyes, she caught a whiff of vinegar and winced at the odor. “I hope you don’t mind simple. I forgot to get the meat out to thaw.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll grab something on the way. I’ve been dying for an Al’s Roast Beef.”
“No way.”
“What, you don’t like Al’s?”
“No, I love it.” She was surprised he did. Al’s was a little hole-in-the-wall near the subway overpass. The kind of place you weren’t one-hundred-percent sure passed the health inspection, although it did have the most amazing burgers and roast beef sandwiches. She would have pegged Stuart as preferring something more upscale and elegant, like the wine bar up the street. “Can’t beat their barbecue special.”
“Would you like to join me?”
Join him? The hair on the back of her neck started to rise, much the way it did when he’d suggested they start over. She didn’t trust this warmer, gentler Stuart. Especially since he said he still didn’t trust her.
What was he up to?
“We both need to eat,” he replied, picking up on her hesitation. “We’re both going to the hospital. Why not go together?”
Why not? She could give a bunch of reasons, starting with the fact she should be avoiding him, not giving him an opportunity to dig for information.
“Plus, I owe you an apology for being wrong about Nigel.”
“You do owe me that,” Patience replied.
“So, is that a yes?” His expectant smile was so charming it caused her stomach to do a tiny somersault. As sure a sign as any that she should say no. Playing with fire, the voice in her head reminded her.
Except that smile was too darn hard to refuse. “Sure,” she replied. “Why not?”
* * *
She regretted her response as soon as they arrived at Al’s. Actually, she regretted it as soon as the words left her mouth and Stuart flashed a knee-buckling smile, but arriving at the restaurant sealed the deal—restaurant being a loose description. Beacon Hill types considered the banged-up booths and ketchup stains “atmosphere.” Patience considered it dirty. The place reminded her too much of the old days.
“We could do takeout if you’d rather,” Stuart said, correctly interpreting her expression. “Go eat by the river.”
Patience shook her head. “No. Here will be fine.” A picnic by the river sounded too nice, and, frankly, the situation was strange enough without the atmosphere feeling like a date.
This kinder, gentler Stuart made her nervous. They weren’t friends—not by a long shot—and she wasn’t really sure she bought his apology excuse. So why were they out to dinner together?
After placing their orders, they took seats in a booth toward the rear of the restaurant. One of the cleaner tables, if that was saying anything. Immediately, Patience took out a package of hand wipes and began cleaning the crumbs from the surface, earning a chuckle from Stuart.
“You do realize you’re off the clock, right?” he asked.
“You want to eat on a dirty table?” she shot back. She was beginning to dislike his laugh. Rich and thick, the sound slipped down her spine like warm chocolate syrup, making her insides quiver every time she heard it. Doubling down on her cleaning efforts, she did her best to wash both the crumbs and the sensation away. “I don’t even want to think about what the kitchen looks like,” she continued.
There was a splash of dried cola near the napkin dispenser. She went at it with vigor. “Piper would have a nutty if she saw this place.”
“Who’s Piper?”
Drat. She didn’t realize she’d spoken aloud. This really was a mistake. Not five minutes in and she’d opened the door to personal questions. Fortunately, Piper was the one personal subject she could talk about forever. “She’s my sister.”
“Let me guess, she’s into cleaning, too?”
“No, cooking.” Her chest grew full. “She’s studying to be a chef. In Paris.” She made a point of emphasizing the location.
“Is that so?”
Based on the spark in Stuart’s eye, Patience decided it was admiration and not disbelief coloring his voice, and her pride expanded some more. “She was accepted last fall. It’s always been her dream to become a famous chef.”
“You must be proud.”
“Proud doesn’t begin to cover it. I think she’s going to be the next Top Chef, she’s that talented. Ever since she was a kid, she had a knack for taking ingredients you’d never thought would go together and turning them into something delicious. Once, I came home and found her making jalapeño pancakes.”