ten minutes was all the man needed to look and smell heavenly, because when she turned to check the cabinets for a tureen or something to put the pasta sauce in he was propped against the door frame, watching her. She let out a little squeak before she could stop it. “How long have you been standing there?”
“About a minute and a half.”
Heat rushed up her face when she realized her gaze was trailing down his chest and had landed just below his belt buckle. “I, um...was just looking for a couple of bowls for the pasta and sauce.”
His lips quirked as if he realized exactly what she’d been doing. “Well, by all means, let me help.”
Without saying anything else, he opened cabinet doors until he found a couple of good-sized bowls.
His scent filled her head, making her feel slightly dizzy. She shook it in an effort to clear it. “I like your china pattern. I wouldn’t have thought you were much for flowers, though.”
The delicate gold rimming the plates and the pink roses were definitely not what she would have thought he’d pick out for himself. When he frowned, her thoughts froze. Had some past or present lover bought him dishes?
She swallowed. Not that it was any of her business but she’d already set the table with them as she hadn’t been able to find any other plates in his cupboards.
He tilted one of the bowls as if seeing it for the first time. “My mother sent them as a house-warming gift.”
“That was nice.”
He gave a hard laugh. “You would think so, wouldn’t you? My mom always knows just the right thing to say or do. She’s a master at managing and meeting expectations—and instilling that trait in others. It’s all about doing what’s expected of you.”
DID BRAD KNOW how bitter those words sounded?
Probably not. Her heart ached for him. Her own parents were so involved in their kids’ lives—sometimes too involved—that she couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have parents as detached at his parents had always seemed to be.
“People can change,” she said. “Maybe your mom really was trying to be nice.”
“I’m sure she was.” The tight-lipped response told her he didn’t buy her theory.
Maybe Brad was right. Chloe knew from experience that some people never did change.
Once everything was on the table, they ate in silence. Brad complimented the food but didn’t seem to be in a hurry to start any kind of conversation. The silence eventually got to her. She cleared her throat. “How’s the hunt for a new nurse coming? Have you had any applicants?”
“I had several interviews today, as a matter of fact.”
“That’s great.”
So soon? Her heart plummeted, landing somewhere around her knees. She knew he was going to look for someone else. Knew she was due back at her old job in less than a week, but it wasn’t easy hearing how painless it would be to replace her.
Why wouldn’t it be? Travis had replaced her before she’d even officially left the marriage.
Besides, the sooner Brad got her out of the hospital and out of his hair, the sooner he could go back to his old, free-wheeling lifestyle. Who knew? Katrina might even stroll back into the picture as soon as the coast was clear.
She swallowed, trying to blot out the wave of self-pity that sloshed through her stomach. Chloe Jenkins: invisible and most certainly expendable.
Getting up from the table, she picked up her plate and headed for the safety of the kitchen, thanking the dinner gods that she’d finished eating because there was no way she’d be able to force down one more bite. The cheesecake in the refrigerator was going to have to wait.
She heard the scrape of Brad’s chair and tensed in front of the sink. He came in and laid his hands on her shoulders. “You okay?”
“Just fine. There’s cheesecake in the fridge if you want dessert.”
“I’m good.” He turned her to face him. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She was so desperate to avoid his gaze that she threw out the first thing she could think of. “Do you want another glass of wine?”
He searched her face. “Let’s take the bottle into the living room and sit for a while. You can tell me about your day.”
Uh...he already knew everything about her day because they worked together. She saw almost exactly the same patients as he did. But right now she was more than grateful for an excuse to slide away from him. And one more glass of wine wouldn’t do her in.
Whiskey, however... Yeah, she didn’t want a repeat of her first night at the apartment. She’d drink a second glass and then retreat to her room or the kitchen. She could always say she needed to do the dishes.
“I’ll get the table and the dishes later on. Just leave everything where it is.”
Had the man read her mind? She sure hoped not, because there were things inside her head she did not want him to find.
Picking up her glass as Brad retrieved the bottle of wine along with his own wineglass, they made their way to the living room. Chloe was reminded of that fateful first time she’d sat here—how horrified she’d been at what she’d been wearing beneath her coat.
That seemed like a lifetime ago. Maybe it was. What had seemed like the closing of a chapter was more like the final page of a book. The new one, full of crisp white pages, was just waiting for the right opening line. Only she had no idea what that sentence would be.
Chloe sat on the brown leather sofa, glad when he didn’t choose to sit in front of her on the ottoman again. Instead, he settled in the space beside her and lifted the bottle of wine to fill her glass. She dutifully held it out and watched the clear liquid trickle until it hit the halfway point. He did the same with his own then set the bottle on a side table.
As there was no way he simply wanted to talk about her day, she wondered if he was trying to find a tactful way to get her out of his apartment. She decided to take the bull by the horns.
“Did you have any luck with the interviews?”
He leaned back against the cushions, his right arm sliding along the top of it. She swore she felt the tip of her ponytail move in the process. “None. So I’ve been doing some thinking.”
“You have?”
He gave a soft laugh. “As surprising as that may seem to you, I do think from time to time.”
This time the bobbing of her ponytail was not her imagination. What was he doing back there?
The continued subtle tugging on her hair was beginning to give her that weird quivery feeling in her stomach again. She cleared her throat in an attempt to take her mind
