by Amie Denman
Page glanced at Mateo and blushed. “I didn’t know you had company, Sherri. I just wanted to drop off that book we talked about at the meeting the other night.” She handed it to his cousin and paused, looking between them. “Well, enjoy your dinner.”
Sherri put her arm around Page’s shoulders. “Don’t rush off. Join us. We have plenty of food.”
“I appreciate the offer, but I haven’t been able to eat much lately.” She gave Sherri a quick hug and left.
Dez pointed in the direction Page had gone. “That’s her. You’d like her, Mateo. She’s funny and smart. And you know that’s a deadly combination for guys like us.”
He remembered dancing with her at a party a couple of months ago. She’d been standing alone, watching the others, so he’d invited her to dance with him. It had been one song and then they’d parted ways. To be honest, she was just his type of woman. Dez had been right when he said that funny and smart was an irresistible combination. But he couldn’t do it. “No offense, but I’m not looking to date someone dying from cancer.”
The patio door opened and Page was standing there. Mateo felt like groaning, and he hoped she hadn’t heard him, but her expression told him she had. She handed a pair of sunglasses to Sherri. “You forgot these in my car.” She turned to Mateo. “And I’m fighting cancer, not dying from it. Goodbye, again.”
Sherri winced and then ran after Page, while Dez shook his head. “Not cool, man.”
“I didn’t know she was right there.” He’d come off as a jerk and he knew it. “But I meant what I said. I don’t want to get involved with anyone fighting cancer. You know my history.”
His mom had died from breast cancer when he was a teenager. He’d watched her fade away day after day. When Sherri had been diagnosed last year, he’d feared the same fate would befall her. Instead, she’d fought and won. He only wished his mother had won her fight, too.
Dez nodded toward the door. “Still, you should apologize to her before she leaves.”
He knew it was the right thing to do. He found Sherri and Page talking in the living room. Sherri gave him a smile before she excused herself, touching his arm as she walked past him. He came forward to face the other woman. “Page, I apologize for what I said out there.”
“Which part? Where you said you wouldn’t date me? Or when you said I was dying?”
He cocked his head to the side and studied her. She looked rail-thin, and the hollows in her cheeks were deep, like those he remembered seeing in his mom’s face. But Page’s eyes snapped with vitality and anger. She was even cute in her black T-shirt that had a lace edge along the bottom and hot pink nail polish on her toes that peeked out of her black sandals. He looked at her directly. “Both?”
She rolled her eyes. “Goodbye, Mateo.”
She turned on her heel and he followed her outside to her car. “Page, wait! I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
She stared at him, and he felt as if she was trying to read him. “When you look at me, all you see is cancer. But that’s just something that I have. You don’t really see me, and I wish you would.”
She got into her car and drove off. He watched her leave and then returned to the backyard. When he took his seat, Sherri cocked an eyebrow, and he gave her a shrug. “I apologized.”
Dez took a swig from his beer bottle and pointed at him with it. “You’d be lucky to date that woman, cancer or not. I speak from experience when I say that loving a woman who has survived the worst, only makes life more precious.”
Sherri smiled and put a hand on Dez’s forearm. “It makes you appreciate what you have for as long as you can.”
Mateo sighed and put his napkin back on his lap. “I’m not interested in anyone right now. That’s the truth.”
Sherri stared at him for a minute before reaching out and grabbing his hand. “Okay. We won’t push.” A smile played around her mouth. “We’ll leave that to the aunties.”
Mateo groaned in mock horror but then returned her smile with one of his own. Truth was, Page intrigued him. And though she’d left, the memory of her lingered in his mind.
* * *
PAGE LOOKED DOWN at the speedometer and eased her foot off the accelerator. She’d been driving at forty miles an hour in a 25-mile-per-hour zone. Breathe in, breathe out, she reminded herself, trying to calm her racing heart.
Mateo’s words still echoed in her brain. He didn’t date someone who was dying. She tried to shake off the disappointment, but what he’d said still stuck. She’d always thought he was hot, after having seen him at Sherri’s party last year and then again at April’s a couple of months ago. She’d nearly swooned when he’d asked her to dance. Had reveled in the feeling of his strong arms around her, his hand at her waist. Then the song had been over and he’d moved on. But she’d dreamed of that dance ever since.
She pulled up in front of April’s house and let her car idle for a moment before shutting it off. She got out, walked up to the front door and entered without knocking. “Okay, I’m here. The party can begin.”
April glanced up from the box she’d been packing and squinted. “Have you been crying?”
“What? No. I don’t cry.” She peered at her reflection in the mirror on the wall behind her. She appeared a little sad maybe, but no tears. “Where do you want me to start?”
“Knowing your organizational skills, I left the kitchen for you.” They entered the room together and surveyed the empty boxes waiting to be filled. April sighed. “I can’t believe I’m leaving this place. I’m going to miss it.”
“You’re only moving two blocks over. It isn’t the ends of the earth.”
April had recently gotten engaged to Zach Harrison and would be marrying her fiancé in less than a month. Her friend picked up a box and took it to the nearest counter. “He wants to keep his dishes because he grew up using them. Fine, we can donate mine. But I want my coffeemaker and mug collection. Other than that, I’m not sure what else to bring with me.”
“What did he say?”
“He told me to bring whatever makes me happy.” She looked around the kitchen. “But it all makes me happy.”
Page pointed at a spoon that had a slightly bent handle. “Even that old thing?”
April clutched the spoon to her chest. “I eat my morning cereal with it. It’s my favorite.” She chuckled. “Can you believe I’m getting married? Me? Last year at this time I had just finished chemo and was counting down the days to my reconstruction surgery.”
Page put her arm around April’s shoulders. “You deserve all this happiness and more.”
“I am happy with him.” Her eyes got a dreamy look, then she sighed. “Have you decided who you’re bringing to the wedding?”
Page snorted. If there was anything she hadn’t thought about it was a date for the upcoming nuptials. “What’s wrong with coming alone? Besides, as maid of honor, I’ll be too busy taking care of you to think about a date.”
“What about Mateo?” April waggled her eyebrows. “Have you thought about asking him? I’m sure he’d say yes.”
And Page was just as sure he’d refuse. He didn’t date someone dying from cancer. Okay, she had to let that go. But like it or not, the words had hit their mark. “He wouldn’t be interested.”
April crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t know. I saw the way the two of you were dancing at my party.”
“Just drop it, okay? Me and Mateo are never going to happen.” She opened a cupboard and started to pull out plates.
“But I thought you liked him.”
She paused from wrapping a plate in newspaper and considered her friend’s words. “I think he’s good-looking.”
“And that’s all there is? You just think he’s hot?”
Page put the wrapped plate in a box and leaned against the counter. “No. I think he’s smart. He’s a great lawyer, accor
ding to Sherri. And I like him.” She picked up another plate. “But nothing’s going to happen. He doesn’t like me.”
Maybe if she kept repeating that, she’d believe it. And give up the dream of pursuing something with Mateo. She was dying, after all.
Copyright © 2018 by Cynthia Powell
ISBN-13: 9781488085192
In Love with the Firefighter
Copyright © 2018 by Amie Denman
All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 22 Adelaide St. West, 40th Floor, Toronto, Ontario M5H 4E3, Canada.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Intellectual Property Office and in other countries.
www.Harlequin.com