Why indeed?
If anyone else had told her the same thing, she would have called them crazy. Unless they tacked on the qualifier. “I honestly didn’t think I could do it,” she softly admitted. “There are days it’s all I can do to drag myself out of bed and downstairs, especially in the winter. Here in Florida, winters are nonexistent when you compare them to harsh New England weather.” She shrugged. “It was less disappointing to turn it down, I guess.”
“Ah,” Ken said. “I thought you were going to tell us your boyfriend refused to let you go.”
She let out a snort. “Hell, no. I’m single. I was single then, too. I’d already divorced the asshole and moved back home with Mom and Dad.”
“This sounds like a story,” Charles said.
She shrugged and took another bite of salad to buy her a moment to compose her thoughts. “My fibro cranked up in college. I was in an auto wreck at the beginning of my junior year, and apparently that’s a really common trigger. I barely made it through the full four years at USF. I met my ex while I was going there, in my freshman year. I’d planned on teaching and going for my master’s, but by the time I graduated with my bachelor’s, I knew I couldn’t do it.” She studied her plate for a moment. “I was stupid and married him before my junior year started, not three months before the accident.” She frowned. “I guess he forgot about the ‘in sickness’ clause in our vows.”
With a deep breath, she forced a smile. “He was cheating on me not too long after that, when I wasn’t bouncy enough in bed for him. Unfortunately, it took me a couple of years to figure that part out. When I found out, I divorced his ass and moved home. Mom and Dad made me stay with them, to build up my strength and confidence. I always had liked to bake. Dad told me I should look into culinary school. That maybe I could find a job with a catering company or something that wouldn’t be as stressful as a restaurant job.”
She thought back with a wistful smile on her face. “My fibro did get somewhat better after I divorced him. I think the stress of not fighting with Kevin anymore helped.”
“Kevin?” Charles asked. “Your ex?”
“Yeah. The rat bastard.” Her smile faded. “I’d only been home a couple of months with the ink barely dry on our final divorce decree when the accident happened. Kevin had the balls to approach me at my parents’ funeral and ask if I wanted to get back together again.” She stabbed at a piece of lettuce with her fork. “No imagination needed there. He was all smarmy and fake concerned. I could see the dollar signs in his eyes.”
“Ah,” Ken said.
“Yeah.” She took another bite. “They had insurance, plus Grover helped me file a lawsuit and sue the fuck out of the drunk driver that hit and killed them.”
“I’m sorry,” Charles said. “How long ago was that?”
“Eight years.” She took a deep breath and forced a cheery smile she suspected didn’t fool them in the least. “I decided the best thing I could do would be to live in honor of my parents’ memories and go for it. I sat down one night and thought about what I really wanted to do. The first thing that popped into my mind was what my dad had said about culinary school. I realized I wanted to own my own bakery. And it wouldn’t leave my head. So off to culinary school I went. And now…” She waved her hand around the room. “I bought this building two years ago, sold my parents’ house, and here I am.”
“I’m sure they’d be very proud of you,” Ken said.
“I hope so. I’d like to think so. Grover keeps telling me they would be, and I have no reason to doubt him.”
“He seemed very protective of you the other day,” Charles observed.
A true smile. “He’s another dad to me. His wife, Connie, she died almost four years ago. My parents weren’t huge churchgoers, but Connie and Grover were my godparents when I was born. Grover and my dad worked together for years, had a law firm together before they both retired. My mom and Connie were best friends.” She swallowed back the unexpected and painful lump in her throat. “I don’t know how I would have made it through the past several years without his family’s emotional support.”
“So,” Ken teased, “does he screen your boyfriends for you?”
She let out another snort. “That’s a laugh. What boyfriends?” She took a sip of her tea. “This dinner with you two is the closest thing I’ve had to a date in a year.”
Time to quit talking about myself.
“So tell me about your families. What’s Nebraska like?”
* * * *
Allan frantically groped for a way to fill in the blanks while praying they didn’t end up contradicting themselves or each other in the process. “Well, it’s not Florida.” What he knew about Nebraska was that they had a team called the Cornhuskers, and Penny from
The Big Bang Theory
hailed from there.
I’m going to need a trip to Wikipedia later if I’m going to do this convincingly for any length of time.
“Thank god,” Ben added, throwing a warning glance his way.
They’d agreed to keep the details to a minimum, lessening the chance of screwing things up. Allan hated lying. As a prosecutor, his job was getting to the truth. Ben on the other hand had way more practical experience in staying undercover and keeping a story straight.
Hell, it was all he could do to remember he wasn’t
supposed
to be straight and to not start flirting with her. She’d seemed so sad when skimming over the details of her divorce and her parents’ deaths. He longed to reach over and give her a hug, give her a comforting set of arms to relax into.
He mentally shook his head.
Must. Focus.
“How are you guys related?” she asked. “You said you were cousins?”
The men spoke at the same time.
“Our fathers—” Ben said.
“Our mothers—” Allan said.
Both men’s mouths snapped shut. Allan thought the fastest and beat Ben to the punch while Libbie’s brow furrowed in confusion. “My dad and his brother married his mom and her sister,” he quickly said.
He noted the desperate look on Ben’s face, so Allan quickly threw in, “It was a double wedding.”
Libbie was looking at him and missed the arched brow and warning look Ben gave him from across the table. When she looked at Ben, Allan sent him an apologetic shrug.
“What?” she asked.
“Two brothers married two sisters,” Ben added. “Sorry, he always says that confusing. We’re double cousins. Our fathers are brothers and our mothers are sisters.”
“Oh,” she said, not looking like she was any less confused. “Does that happen a lot?”
“It apparently does in Nebraska,” Allan muttered as he took a swig of tea.
* * * *
If Ben could, he’d reach across the table and slap the crap out of his brother.
So much for keeping it simple.
“They grew up in the same town,” he added as he glared at Allan when Libbie focused on his brother again. “Small town outside of Omaha,” he quickly added when he remembered they were supposed to be from Omaha.
“I imagine the winters are cold there, huh?”
“So do I,” Allan said. “I mean, yeah, you’re right, they are,” he quickly added upon spotting Ben’s frantic warning look.
“Well, I guess that explains why you both look so much alike,” she observed. “Makes sense.”
“Yeah, we’ve gotten that all our lives,” Ben said. He hoped they made it through dinner without blowing their cover.
The guys would never let me hear the end of it back at the station.
I made it three years in a New Jersey mob family, just to have a baker find out the truth in one dinner because my brother’s an idiot.
“Any brothers or sisters?” she asked.
“Nope,” Ben said. “We’re both only children. We grew up like brothers, though. Very close.”
“Ah. Oh, I was curious. I noticed you didn’t have a Nebraska plate on the front of your car when I went out. Are they like Florida and just use one tag?”
Ben didn’t dare risk throwing a glance Allan’s way because he sensed his brother had frozen up. “I hit the tag office first thing this morning,” Ben said before taking a swig of tea to buy him some time. “Already changed them.”
“Oh.”
“Ready for soup?” Allan quickly asked to change the topic.
Ben breathed a sigh of relief and hoped he could steer the conversation clear of their fictitious families of origin and license plates that didn’t exist. He mentally smacked himself in the head. The truck they’d borrowed belonged to another retired cop friend of his, one he knew was clean, who lived in Palm Beach. His own car was safely stashed in his friend’s garage. Stupidly, in the rush to get out of Miami, he’d forgotten that little detail about license plates.
I need to get my head on straight.
Ben stood and picked up his salad bowl, offering to take hers as well since she’d finished.
“Thanks.” She gave him a warm smile with more than just a hint of sadness coloring her features.
His heart raced. For a moment he wasn’t able to make his feet move. “You’re welcome.”
Man up, Donohue. This isn’t like you.
He pulled himself away from her green gaze and joined Allan in the kitchen.
They were too close to the table for them to say anything to each other, so he stomped on Allan’s foot instead.
When Allan looked at him, Ben made a “quit fucking this up” face at him. Well, he hoped Allan interpreted it correctly.
For all he knew, maybe his twin would think he was constipated.
* * * *
They managed to make it through the rest of dinner without any other glaring gaffes regarding their supposed roots. Ben refused to let her help clean up. “No, you stay there and talk with Charles about the bakery,” he admonished, sending Allan a look over her head and staying him in his seat.
She’d put on a good show for them, but Ben hadn’t missed the way the corners of her eyes pinched close in pain, or how when she stuck her hands under the table that her upper arm muscles flexed and moved as she rubbed her hands, even to the way she gripped her silverware.
The woman was in a lot of pain. Probably a lot more than she let on.
As he stood at the sink and did the dishes, he listened to them talk.
“I definitely could use the help on Wednesdays,” she said. “That’s the day my wholesale order comes in. Bags of flour, sugar, stuff like that. I try not to keep too much extra on hand so we’re not horribly overstocked in the storeroom or the walk-in cooler, but it would be nice to have an extra set of hands on board. I always feel guilty that Grover jumps in to do so much of that.”
“I’ll be more than happy to,” Allan told her. “I…uh, do my best art work later in the day anyway. That means my mornings are all yours.”
Smooth, Counselor.
Ben barely concealed his amused laugh.
The party playboy of South Beach getting up at oh-dark-thirty? This I can’t wait to see.
“Well, I definitely don’t expect you to work every day. I’d be happy just to get a little extra help on Wednesdays.”
A lot of people would be taking advantage of any free help they could get. I really do like her
. He thought about that for a moment.
Then again, I’m not used to seeing the better side of people in general, lately.
All throughout dinner, the more Ben learned about Libbie, the more he liked her. He understood and sympathized with the loss of her parents, even if he and Allan couldn’t really tell her about their own.
In many ways, she was as alone as they were.
He wouldn’t mind a few minutes alone with her rat bastard of an ex-husband, either.
At the end of the evening, when they bid her good-night, he felt his heart leap again when she leaned in to hug both of them. The feel of her soft, auburn hair against his cheek pulled at his heart.
I could easily get used to this.
He killed that line of thinking.
Stop it!
He watched as Allan hugged her, too, and they didn’t close their door until they saw she was safely in her own apartment and heard the lock click home.
Ben closed the door and leaned against it, blowing a long breath out. Allan stood there, motionless, watching him.
“What?” Ben asked.
Allan silently shook his head.
“What is it? Just say it.”
“If the look on your face means the same thing that I feel, I have a feeling this is going to be a really long six months.”
Ben felt himself slump in defeat. “Yeah,” he softly agreed.
* * * *
Libbie let out a happy sigh as she leaned against the door and closed her eyes.
Gay, gay, gay-gay-gay.
I don’t frakking care.
Two sets of strong arms to give her hugs, even if it meant unrequited panty dampening would ensue as a result, and she didn’t have to share them with any other women.
I hope they decide to stay longer than six months.
She had a full tummy, a nice evening with Ken and Charles, and now she could go to bed, indulge in some sexalicious vibratory visualization, and hopefully sleep well.