“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 putting you out this morning.”
She could almost taste the egg rolls. “Well…”
He went in for the kill. “And I was raised to believe that neighbors should be neighborly. This will be my chance to do something neighborly.”
It was becoming obvious that if she didn’t agree to have dinner with him, he would stand here, talking all night. She supposed that there was no harm in sharing a meal with him.
Nicole stepped back, allowing him access to her apartment. Being on her own terrain would make her feel a lot better than being on his. He sounded like someone with small-town values, but you never knew.
Neighborly. Now there was a word she hadn’t heard in a long time. “Exactly where were you raised?” The door thudded shut behind her and she deliberately left the top lock opened. It never hurt to be careful.
If she’d employed that prudence earlier, maybe she wouldn’t be in this predicament now.
No, her pregnancy wasn’t a predicament, she corrected fiercely. Just the beginning had been.
Dennis placed the bag on the kitchen table just in time. The rest of it ripped away. The carton of fried rice in the bottom of the bag made unceremonious contact with the tabletop. His hand greasy, Dennis automatically reached for a paper towel from the roll above the sink.
“I’m from Houston,” he answered as he wiped his hands. It was only one of many cities he and his family had passed through, but it was as good as any to tell her. He looked around for someplace to discard the paper towel.
Nicole opened the cupboard beneath the sink and indicated the small pail there. “That would explain the twang.”
He grinned
