Tonight he had a taste for seafood and decided on one of Chicago’s trendy new hangouts. He liked the place because a person could have a conversation, digest his food, and enjoy a good glass of wine without “headache” music or over-the-top chatter. Unless a bride-to-be was having her bachelorette party in the place. No missing that picture: the pink and silver streamer crown dangling from the brunette’s mass of curls, the laughter, the pastel martini glasses. He scanned the room and zeroed in on the woman in the corner booth. Alone. Head bent. Shoulders shaking. Crying? Definitely not part of the bridal party. His brother had always told him no good came from getting involved with a crying woman, especially a stranger, because there was always way more baggage than what it was worth, even if the woman was beautiful. Hard to tell what this one looked like aside from the jumble of strawberry-blond hair.
He should listen to his brother’s words, find his own booth, and order the crab he’d been thinking about for the past two hours while he listened to the sales rep from the trade show talk about his CNC router. But he’d always been a fool for a woman in distress. If not, he wouldn’t have fallen for his brother’s future wife. Adam sighed, wishing he didn’t possess the “rescue gene” and hoped he wouldn’t regret what he was about to do. The strawberry-blond lifted her head as he moved closer. How could he walk by and pretend he didn’t see the puffy eyes, the red nose, the tear-stained cheeks, and smudges of mascara? Nope, couldn’t do that. Adam stopped at her table, took in the amber eyes glistening with tears, the full, pink lips. “Are you okay?” She pushed a tangle of hair from her face, stared at him, her expression a mix of confusion and vulnerability as though she didn’t understand the question, or did and couldn’t put the answer into words. Not good. The woman was a mess. “Can I help you?” He couldn’t leave her alone, not when her questionable state of mind made her easy prey for men without consciences.
“I don’t know you, do I?”
Adam detected a hint of a drawl. Was she visiting Chicago, maybe here on business, or was she a transplant from the south? If it were the first, that would explain why she sat alone in a restaurant, but it didn’t explain the tears or the forlorn look. “No, we haven’t met.” He offered a gentle smile, kept his voice low so it didn’t drift to the other tables, not that anyone but him had noticed her tears. Or maybe they had and as with typical city dwellers, chose to ignore instead of confront. Some said it had to do with minding your own business and not getting involved, but he’d grown up in a small town and no matter how many cities he lived in, he’d never learned to ignore a situation or a person who might need his help—like now. “Mind if I sit?”
She nodded, bit her lower lip. “Sure.”
He slid into the booth opposite her and glanced at the almost empty wineglass. “Would you like another drink? Something to eat?” The woman shook her head, her amber eyes studying him. What was she thinking? The tears had stopped and the direct stare made him wonder if she were analyzing him with the same calculated efficiency he employed when he met a stranger. Her next words told him she’d completed her ten-second evaluation and reached a conclusion—a wrong one, but one nonetheless.
“If you’re offering drinks and dinner because you think I’m going to sleep with you, you can just hightail it out of here right now.”
Hightail? Interesting choice of words, and an even more interesting assumption. Adam hid a smile and laid a hand on the linen-covered tabletop. “I always wondered if food and drink were successful vehicles of seduction, but I couldn’t say as I have no general experience with that method.” He shrugged. “It’s a bit impersonal, don’t you think?”
She eyed him, brows pinched, shoulders squared. “You have no general experience in that area?”
That voice, definitely southern. Georgia? Virginia? He smiled, rubbed his jaw. “I said I had no general experience with that method.”
“Ah. I see.” Her lips twitched and burst into a full-blown smile. “There is a definite difference.”
He cocked a brow. “Glad you realized that.” Adam extended a hand, reached across the table. “I’m Adam; nice to meet you.”
“Bree.” She shook his hand, her grip firm, her skin soft.
“Bree,” he repeated. He released her hand, glanced at the other hand as she tucked a lock of strawberry-blond hair behind her ear. No rings. Not that it mattered because he was only being kind to this woman and not interested in anything beyond that. But knowing if there was a husband behind the tears he’d witnessed a short while ago was helpful. “Are you here on business?”
“Uh-huh.”
He waited for her to say more, curious to learn what type of business had brought her to Chicago and more, what had caused the tears and obvious grief. But she didn’t expand on that single “uh-huh.” Instead, she fiddled with the base of her wineglass and cleared her throat. Okay, whatever had her upset was not a shareable item. Neither was her type of business and, come to think of it, he didn’t know her last name. Not that it mattered. If the tears were gone and she was coherent, which she seemed to be, and knew how to get a taxi to wherever she was staying, which he’d make sure she did, then his deed was done. “All right. Well, enjoy your stay in the Windy City. If you get a chance, head to the Magnificent Mile. The shopping is very impressive.” He nodded and made his way to the edge of the booth.
“Wait.” She offered him a faint smile and a shrug. “I’m a little hungry, and that was really good wine. Do you want to join me?”
“Uh, sure.” Adam slid back into the booth, took in the flushed face, the faint smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Even with smudges of mascara under her eyes and a still-puffy nose, Bree, the southern mystery woman, was beautiful. No doubt about that. He couldn’t see the rest of her, but the slender neck, the well-defined shoulders, and the way she filled out the lilac shirt told him no man would be disappointed. But something told him, a man had disappointed her. In a big way.
“I’m sorry about the way you saw me earlier.” She worked up a smile and this time it reached her eyes and made them sparkle. “And I apologize for being snippy with you. I just wanted a quiet dinner and a glass of wine, and this place was recommended to me. I hear it’s got great seafood and veal.” She scrunched her nose and made a face. “Of course, I would never touch veal, not when I think of all those poor baby calves kept out of the light, packed in so tight…” She eyed him, folded her hands in her lap. “Do you like veal?”
Like it? He loved it. Veal Saltimbocca, Veal Oscar, Veal Piccata, Veal Marsala, Veal anything. He cleared his throat and met her gaze head-on. “Actually, I do.” Pause. “A lot.”
“Oh.” Disappointment flitted across her face and disappeared seconds before she said, “Thank you for being honest with me. I’d rather hear a truth I don’t like than a lie I believe.”
“I agree. And tonight, I’ll order the crab.” Her laughter slid across the table, pulled a laugh from him, too. When the waiter came, he ordered a bottle of wine and a sundried-tomato bruschetta appetizer. They both decided on the flounder stuffed with crab. “So, I’ve never been accused of being pushy and if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine, but it isn’t every day that a guy walks into a restaurant and finds a woman soaked in tears.”
“I know.” She shook her head and the light caught a few strands of strawberry hair, turned them blond. “It was the darn bachelorette party that did it.” Bree blew out a sigh. “And the song they played right when they walked in, all about love and forever. Dang, but I hate that song.”
“Bad memories, huh?” A love song and a would-be bride causing an avalanche of tears sounded like a relationship gone wrong.
“Oh, yes indeed. Not just bad. Horrible. Worse than horrible.” She lifted her glass, gulped the rest of her wine. “If a man does not want to accept the responsibilities of marriage—and I mean the whole kit and caboodle—then he should stay single. There’s enough women willing to please his fancy without the promise of hearth and home, so why
pretend if you aren’t willing to commit for the long haul?” Pause. “He should respect her enough to tell her it’s not going to work and if he’s caught himself in a trap of his own making, he should be man enough to find a way out and I’m not talking about in another woman’s bed.” Bree gripped the stem of the wineglass. “No sir. That man should cut himself loose the respectable way and once he’s free of commitments, he can go bed-hopping wherever he wants, with whomever he wants. That’s what I say.”
Kit and caboodle? Bed-hopping? The woman had gone from zipped shut to spewing more information than he should know. So, her guy had been a cheater. Maybe she hadn’t come right out and said her guy was the one who danced around marriage responsibilities and done a bit of bed-hopping, but the fierce expression on her face and the burn in her words said she’d been done wrong. Obviously, she’d been married. Was she still? Divorced? How about none of his business? He should find a way to extricate himself from this conversation but the wine was on its way and they’d already ordered dinner. Besides, the woman reminded him of a one-thousand-piece puzzle of varying shades of the same color: complicated, seemingly impossible to figure out, and too damn compelling. When had he ever backed away from a challenge or a puzzle? “I’m sorry he hurt you.”
“What?” Those amber eyes the color of a bourbon neat narrowed on him. “Who said he cheated? I never said that.”
“Are you saying he didn’t?”
“I didn’t say he did or didn’t.”
He recognized the tone in her voice as what he’d bet she’d call snippy. “No, you didn’t.” He should keep his mouth shut, let her think she was fooling him. What did it matter? They were strangers and after this meal, they’d never see each other again. “Look, it’s none of my business. I’m sorry. He didn’t cheat, whoever he is.”
There were times in a person’s life when the universe lined up according to plan. The appearance of the waiter with wine and a basket of fresh-baked bread was one of those times. His presence negated a response from Bree or a rebuttal from Adam. An occurrence in the universe, exactly as it should be. After the waiter poured their wine and disappeared, Adam lifted his glass, extended it toward Bree, and said, “To your trip and to keeping a smile on your face.”
She clinked her glass against his, avoided his gaze for all of three seconds before zeroing in on him. “I am not in the habit of behaving like a witch. My mama and daddy taught me better than that and here I am acting like I have my very own set of brooms.” She cleared her throat, said in a quiet voice, “I apologize. I’ve behaved in a manner unbecoming a lady. My mama would be horrified.” She sat up straight, squared her shoulders. “And you were right. He did cheat.”
The sadness on her face made Adam wish he’d kept his mouth shut. He reached across the table, clasped her hand. “I’m sorry. It really isn’t any of my business. Maybe I shouldn’t have approached you tonight but I’m a sucker for a woman in tears and you looked so sad.”
Her eyes grew bright, glistened with tears. “There’s a lot of sadness in this world, and a lot of times it’s aimed right at you and there’s not a dang thing you can do about it.” She sniffed, attempted a smile. “Ever notice that?”
He squeezed her hand, released it. “I have.”
“I’m glad you stopped. You’re a good person, Adam. I can tell by the way you talk to me and how you got almost angry when you asked about the cheater. Something tells me you’re not a cheater, that it’s not in you.” Her full lips worked into a smile. “And it makes me happy to know good men still walk this earth.”
Did good men fall in love with their future sisters-in-law? Doubtful. “I think you’re the kindhearted one at this table. Now why don’t we enjoy our wine and you can tell me all about what you’re doing in Chicago while we wait for our meal?”
Bree sipped her wine, set her glass on the table, and traced the rim with a pink-tipped nail. “I guess you could say I’m here because my daddy believes in my abilities. It’s taken a long while and there’s been a time or three that I didn’t think he had any faith in me, least of all me working in his business. But he’s shown me with this trip, and when I get back home, I’m going to prove to him that his faith is justified.”
“So, you’re running his business?” What kind of business could it be? Advertising? A retail shop? He guessed it would be something that put her in front of people and why not? Bree was beautiful with a smile and a voice that made a person want to do whatever she asked. Probably clothing of some sort…
“I’ve been running his business for a while now, and I love it. But Daddy’s been in the background, always trying to step in and smooth the way, like I can’t figure it out myself or he doesn’t want me to have to deal with any issues.” Another shake of her head, a lift of her shoulder. “He wants to protect me, but that’s not possible, because if he could have done that…”
Her voice drifted, her words left unfinished, but Adam knew what she meant. If he could have done that, he would have protected her from the cheater. Nobody could make another person do something they didn’t want to do, no matter how much that person wanted it. Adam had learned that with his brother’s accident, and later when he’d fallen in love with the wrong woman. “We always want to protect those we love, but sometimes all we can do is stand beside them and hold them up when they start to fall.” That’s how he’d gotten his brother through a rough time, and it was why he’d walked away when the woman he’d fallen in love with chose his brother instead.
“That is so true.”
Adam nodded, anxious to get past the memories of his bad luck and wrong choice. “What kind of business are you in? And where? Georgia? Virginia? I can’t quite pinpoint the accent.”
That made her laugh. “Heavens no, not Georgia or Virginia, though I’ve always wanted to visit. Do you think the peaches are truly juicier than northern peaches? I’ve often wondered about that. And the sun, does it beat hotter, the air get thicker, in the south? Oh, I’ve always wanted to know.”
Was she avoiding his question about her business or did her mind play hopscotch with whatever thought flitted into her head? Did she want an answer or were her questions rhetorical? Before he had time to formulate a response based on personal experience, she jumped in and added more questions to the ones she’d already started.
“I’ve heard it said there’s nothing tastier than a bowl of shrimp and grits. Have you ever tried those? Or Maryland blue crab? How is it different from the king crab? Do you know?”
Her face flushed an attractive pink, whether from the wine or thinking about the south, he couldn’t say. She was the zaniest, most unpredictable woman he’d ever met: one minute pouring enough tears to fill the Chicago River and the next spouting off about food with an exhilaration that exhausted him. But there was something about her that reminded him of a breath of fresh air and an innocence that carried its own brand of intrigue. How could anyone hurt her?
“Adam? So, what do you think?”
“Huh?” He hadn’t been thinking of answers to her questions because there were just too many damn questions. No, he’d let his mind wander off and think about her, Bree the beautiful with the broken heart and sad smile. What was the real story behind that broken heart and would she ever give another man a chance to mend it? He told himself he only wondered because of his profession. Lawyers were inquisitive; they asked, probed, hunted, and sought answers. They did not fantasize about strawberry-blond strangers with sad backstories.
“You didn’t hear a word I said.” She stuck out her bottom lip and shook her head. “Men. I don’t think I’ve ever known one to sit through an entire conversation without getting distracted.”
Oh, he could see how they’d get distracted. She placed her elbows on the table, leaned forward, the fabric of her shirt hugging her chest. A definite distraction. From this distance he could make out the gold flecks in her eyes. Mesmerizing. Yes, distraction was inevitable, and couple Bree’s appeal with her soft accent and the gazillion que
stions she asked that wore a man out, no doubt he would get distracted. Adam lifted his wineglass and said, “The answer is yes.”
Her brows pinched together. “Yes?”
He nodded. “Yes, the peaches are definitely juicier, the sun hotter, the air thicker.” He rubbed his jaw, took pleasure in the mix of confusion and awe spreading over that beautiful face. Memorization and attention to detail had benefited and plagued him since he was a boy. Some things should be stamped in a person’s brain, others erased. “Shrimp and grits? That’s a must experience when you’re down south. Rich. Creamy. You won’t forget it.”
“Ohh. Tell me more.”
Bree licked her lips, left a fine sheen on them that made Adam think about tasting that had nothing to do with food. He cleared his throat, shifted his gaze to her eyes, and ignored the jolt in his gut. She was a stranger with a hundred pounds of baggage. That meant headache and heartache. “The only similarity between the king crab and blue crab is the word crab. King crab is sweet and you can dig out hunks of meat, but picking a blue crab is an art. You could spend an afternoon going after the tiny meat in those shells.” He shrugged and grinned, relieved his gut and his brain had shut down their response to Bree. “Some people call it a hobby, others an obsession. Add a few cold beers and a roll of paper towels and you’ve got yourself a party.”
“Love it!” She clapped her hands and her face lit up. “I’m putting blue crab on my bucket list.”
“And don’t forget the shrimp and grits.” Adam saluted her with his glass. “I’d say it’s bucket-list worthy, so add that to your must-have experiences.”
“I will.” Her smiled faded, her voice drifted. “I definitely will.”
“What’s wrong?” A few seconds ago she’d been bursting with excitement, but the burst disappeared, shifted to gloom.
Bree cleared her throat, blinked hard, and said in a quiet voice, “There’s a whole world out there, filled with food, people, cultures, and I don’t know anything about them. All I know is what I read in books and magazines.” She sniffed, met his gaze. “How sad and pitiful is that?”
A Family Affair: The Wish: Truth in Lies, Book 9 Page 2