of the house.
“You must be really hungry.”
He laughed. “I am. But these are for you.” He shrugged. “A thank-you for helping me last weekend.”
She froze. She should have expected this. She had expected this. She knew he hated owing anyone.
She sucked in a quiet breath. Not only did she not want to spend time with him, but she hadn’t eaten waffles since their fateful trip to Vegas. Mostly because she didn’t want to remember that wonderful time. That Cain wasn’t the real Cain. Neither was this guy who’d made her waffles. He didn’t want to thank her as much as he felt guilty that she’d helped him the week before and wouldn’t let that “debt” go unpaid.
“That’s not necessary.”
“I know it’s not necessary, but I want to thank you.”
“You did thank me. The words are enough.”
He sighed. “Just sit down and have a waffle.”
“No!” Because the single word came out so angrily, she smiled to soften it. “Thanks, but no.”
Their gazes held for a few seconds. She read the confusion in his dark eyes. He didn’t understand why she wouldn’t eat breakfast with him. They’d been so happy the one and only time they’d had waffles together. And maybe that’s why he’d chosen them?
Regret rose up in her, but regret was a foolish emotion. She couldn’t change who he was. She couldn’t change the fact that she’d lost their child. And she refused to be pulled into believing the nice side of him was in control. That would only lead to more heartache. Neither one of them wanted that.
She turned and walked away. “I’ll get started upstairs while you eat.”
Cain pretended her refusal to eat his thank-you waffles hadn’t bothered him. Being incredibly busy at work, it was easy to block out the memory. But Saturday morning he took his boat out, and alone on the water with nothing to keep him company but his thoughts, he was miserable.
Liz was without a doubt the kindest woman in the world and he had hurt her. He’d hurt her enough that she couldn’t even force herself to be polite and eat breakfast with him.
When she’d left him three years before, he’d experienced a bit of remorse, but mostly he was relieved. He’d quickly buried both emotions under work—as he always did. But sitting on the ocean, with the sun on his face and the truth stirring his soul, he knew he had to make it up to her. All of it. The quick marriage, the horrible three years together, the bitter divorce and probably the pain she’d suffered afterward.
He owed her. And he hated owing anyone. But her refusal had shown him that she didn’t want a grand gesture. Hell, she didn’t want any gesture at all. Still, he needed to ease his own conscience by doing something for her. and he would. He simply wouldn’t let her know he was doing it.
On Sunday morning, he got her phone number from Ava and tried calling her. He needed no more than a ten-minute conversation with her. He was very, very good at figuring out what people wanted or needed. That was part of what had made him so successful at negotiating. In ten minutes, he could figure out what anyone wanted or needed and then he could use that knowledge to negotiate for what he wanted. The situation with Liz was no different. He wanted to ease his conscience and could do that by simply finding a need and filling it for her. Anonymously, of course. Then his conscience would be clear. He could fall out of her life again, and they both could go back to the new lives they’d created without each other.
His call went directly to voice mail, so he tried calling her on Monday morning. That call also went to voice mail. Not wanting to make a fool of himself by leaving a hundred unanswered messages, he waited for Friday to roll around. She might not take his calls, she might not have eaten the breakfast he’d prepared the week before, but she couldn’t avoid him in his own house if he really wanted to talk to her.
And he did. In only a few minutes, he could ascertain what was important to her, get it and ease his conscience. If he had to follow her around while she dusted, he would.
Realizing she might not enter if she saw he was still home, Cain stayed out of sight until he heard the bip, bip, bip of his alarm being disabled. He waited to hear the back door open and close, then he stepped into the kitchen.
“Liz.”
The woman in the yellow maid’s apron turned. “Mr. Nestor?”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
Well, if that didn’t take the cake! Not only had she refused his thank-you waffles and ignored his calls, but now she’d sent someone else to clean his house?
He sucked in a breath to control his temper so he could apologize again to Liz’s employee, then he drove to his office. He was done with pussyfooting around. Now, she’d deal with him on his terms.
He kept the five o’clock space on his calendar open assuming she and her employees met back at her office for some sort of debriefing at the end of the work week. At the very least, to get their weekly paychecks. Ava gave him the business address she’d gotten for Happy Maids and he jumped into his black Porsche.
With traffic, the drive took forty minutes, not the twenty he’d planned on. By the time he arrived at the office building housing Happy Maids, he saw a line of women in yellow aprons exiting. He quickly found a parking place for his car, but even before he could shut off his engine, Liz whizzed by him in an ugly green car.
Damn it!
Yanking on the Porsche’s gearshift, he roared out of the parking space. He wasn’t entirely sure it was a good idea to follow Liz home. She might take that as an invasion of privacy, but right at this moment, with the memory of her refusal to eat his waffles ringing in his head, and his embarrassment when he realized she’d given the job of cleaning his house to one of her employees adding fuel to the fire, he didn’t give a damn.
He wanted to get this off his conscience and all he needed were ten minutes. But she wouldn’t even give him ten minutes. So he’d have to take them. He wasn’t sure how he’d explain his presence at her door, but he suddenly realized he had the perfect topic of conversation. He could calmly, kindly, ask her why she’d left their marriage without a word. Three years had gone by. The subject wasn’t touchy anymore. At least not for him. He knew why she’d left. He’d been a lousy husband. This should be something she’d want to discuss. To get off her chest.
He wouldn’t be mean. He’d say the words women loved to hear. That he wanted to talk. To clean their slate. For closure. So they could both move on completely. Actually, what he was doing was giving her a chance to vent. She’d probably be thrilled for it.
He grinned. He was a genius. Mostly because Liz was the kind of woman she was. She didn’t rant and rail. Or even get angry. She’d probably quietly tell him that she’d left him because he had been a nightmare to live with, and he would humbly agree, not argue, showing her he really did want closure. All the while he’d be processing her house, looking for clues of what mattered to her, what she needed. So he could get it for her and wipe this off his conscience.
He wove in and out of traffic two car lengths behind her, not surprised when she drove to one of Miami’s lower-middle-class neighborhoods. She identified with blue-collar people. Which was one of the reasons their marriage had
