a gallon of milk, a bowl and spoon he must’ve set on her porch before knocking. “Anyway, hate me for having a sex drive if you want, but I brought you breakfast.”
She was tempted to refuse the food and figure out some other way to get her furniture. She didn’t think it would be wise to continue to associate with Rafe. As nice as he’d been—to carry her luggage, offer to help her move, bring her food—there was something about him she found threatening. And it wasn’t hard to guess why. After what had happened before, when they were younger, they were too sexually aware of each other. There was no forgetting the past, regardless of any pact they might have agreed to along those lines—perhaps because that incident had been so unsatisfying. Rafe hadn’t been interested enough to make it anything more.
But the last thing she needed was to spoil her fresh start by sleeping with her neighbor, especially if it was only to prove she could finally capture his full attention—or that she was attractive and desirable and her husband should never have thrown her over for someone else.
“Really? You have to think about whether you’ll accept my food?” He shook the jug to cause the milk to slosh. “That says something, doesn’t it? Since you’re obviously not in the best of circumstances.”
“No, I want it.” She couldn’t refuse. She was too hungry. She hadn’t eaten since the oatmeal she’d cooked early yesterday morning before leaving for the airport, and that cup of tea at Coldiron House. She’d been too tense to choke down a sandwich. “I should be more leery of you, though,” she added to show that her acceptance was a grudging one.
“Trust me, you’re leery enough,” he said.
“Merely trying to learn from my past mistakes.”
He tucked the cereal box under his arm, as if he might not give it to her, after all. “Did I hear you correctly? You’re insulting your only source of help? Is that what happened yesterday with Keith?”
“You’re tough. You can take it.” She felt a smile tug at her lips as she jerked her head to invite him in. “Any chance you could carry that into the kitchen while I change?”
After putting on a bra and a dry shirt and combing her hair, she found him leaning against the wall. “It’d be nice if there were somewhere to sit in here,” he said.
She handed him the key she’d retrieved when she changed. “Yes, it would.”
“So...why isn’t there? What could be more important to your brother than making sure you have a bed to sleep in and the other stuff you need?”
She released an exaggerated sigh. “It’s a long story.”
“Which is the short way of telling me you’re not going to explain.”
“Wouldn’t want to bore you,” she said as she opened the Frosted Flakes and poured them into her bowl.
He lowered his voice. “I get that you’re a proud person. I’m even beginning to think you might be the kind of proud that drives everyone nuts for no good reason. But...”
“Excuse me?” A slight quirk to his mouth told her he was teasing, but no one wanted to be thought of as being “the kind of proud” that drove everyone nuts. That made her sound like her mother. “You don’t know anything about me!”
“I know you’re a Lazarow,” he said.
She hesitated before adding milk to her bowl. “What does that mean?”
“Who else would sleep out on the beach rather than go to a neighbor for help? If you weren’t so determined to keep up appearances, you could’ve slept on my couch. Saved yourself a lot of needless misery. We are old friends—sort of.”
“One sexual encounter—a long time ago—doesn’t make us friends,” she pointed out. “And you should be thankful I didn’t come knocking at your door. You don’t want a needy neighbor.”
“Is that so?” he said. “Because it looks like I’ve got one whether I want it or not.” He opened several of the cupboards and left them that way. “You have no furniture, no blankets, no food. What’s going on? I can see why you might not want to come to me. But what I don’t understand is why you didn’t stay at the house where you were raised. Where you could eat to your heart’s content. You could’ve slept in a nice, warm, expensive bed, Princess Lazarow, instead of huddling alone, out on the beach, where anything could’ve happened to you.”
There was so much of what he’d said that she wanted to address—the comment about her mother and brother and the “princess” reference that suggested she considered herself too good for regular people (like him, no doubt). But all of it was painful and convoluted and something she’d been trained not to discuss with outsiders. She couldn’t imagine he’d want to hear the dirty details, anyway. In many respects, she’d been blessed with more than most people. The rest of the islanders certainly viewed her that way. Complaining would only make her look ungrateful and spoiled. So she skipped over everything except the least personal part of what he’d said. “Stop being so dramatic. Except for a few mosquito bites, nothing bad happened while I was on the beach.”
“It could have. Fairham doesn’t have a lot of crime. But shit happens everywhere. No point in creating the perfect opportunity.”
Her spoon clinked against the bowl as she took her first bite. “Where’s your daughter?” she asked instead of continuing to argue with him.
“We’re not talking about Laney right now,” he replied.
“I’m curious.”
“Where do you think she is? I work. Someone has to watch her.”
She brought another spoonful of Frosted Flakes to her mouth. She would never have chosen a prepared cereal with so much sugar—she wouldn’t have chosen a prepared cereal at all—but she had to admit it tasted better than the usual healthier choices. There was something cathartic about drowning her sorrows in what she used to eat with her father on Saturday mornings—while Josephine slept in and wasn’t there to voice her disapproval. “You have a sitter at the house or...”
“I take her to my mom on weekdays, when my mom’s arthritis doesn’t make it too hard for her.”
“Where’s her mother? She can’t help?”
“No.”
He didn’t answer her question about Laney’s mother, didn’t offer anything else. Figuring that might be a sensitive subject and feeling she had no business sticking her nose in his private business, she let it go. “So your mother babysits for you.”
“Yes. And I pay her. That way we both benefit.”
“She’s never remarried?”
“No, after my father died, she might’ve dated here and there, but not for some years, at least not to my knowledge.”
“I don’t think I ever learned what happened to your father.”
“He was a dietician and personal trainer. He’d just quit his job to open his own gym when he was robbed and stabbed only a few feet from the warehouse space he’d rented for his new business. That’s why my mother came
