“Okay,” he said. “Count me in.”
Chapter Two
Ryleigh walked through the parking lot of Peretti’s Italian Restaurant with Nick’s hand at the small of her back. It wasn’t the touch alone that had memories crashing in on her, although the way his fingers had her nerves tingling was annoying. But the déjà vu-ish feeling was more about this being their favorite restaurant. Their place. In another life.
He’d brought her here on their first date and swore she’d love it as much as he did. She’d barely eaten anything. Too nervous. Too love struck. Too anxious to sleep with him, be with him, which had happened maybe thirty minutes after they’d left that night. They couldn’t keep their hands off each other or be in each other’s arms fast enough.
A few months later Nick had asked her to marry him in the corner booth at the back of this restaurant.
“Dr. Nick. Mrs. Nick.” Vito Peretti’s slightly accented voice just kept the nostalgia hits coming. A handsome Italian man in his fifties, he smiled as they stepped inside the door.
“Hi, Vito.”
He’d taken a shine to a young couple in love. “It has been a long time since I see you together. Dr. Nick alone is wrong. I am so happy that two of my favorite people are back together.”
“No. We’re not together. I mean, we’re together right now. This moment.” Ryleigh slid her hands into the pockets of her black slacks. “We just came in to eat. Things to discuss.”
“Excellent. First you talk.” Vito nodded at Nick. “Clear the air. Fix the problem.”
“Just dinner,” Nick answered.
“Whatever you say.” The restaurant owner winked. “Food first. Then romance.”
Not this time, Ryleigh thought. She was over Nick Damian. That’s what made her plan workable.
Through the dimly lighted restaurant they were led to the back and she knew what was coming.
“Your table,” Vito said.
Every memory cell inside her vibrated in protest, but protesting for real would just raise more questions. When Vito pulled the white-cloth-covered table out for them to slide into the rounded booth, she did so without uttering a word. And, equally silent, Nick sat next to her. But the muscle in his jaw moved.
“I will bring your favorite wine,” he said.
Cabernet, she remembered. Some French name that never stuck in her head. Before she could tell him not to bother because she needed her wits intact, the man disappeared.
Nick rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. His eyes seemed to turn down at the corners more than usual, a clear indication that he was tired. He’d changed out of the scrubs she’d seen him wearing earlier that day outside the newborn nursery, when he agreed to her plan.
Now he had on worn jeans, a long-sleeved white cotton shirt and battered brown leather jacket. It was October and the brutal summer heat was gone, making the days pleasant but the nights chilly. One of the things she’d missed most was his warmth in bed. Then again, half the time he hadn’t been there. Why had it been so damn hard to get over what she hardly ever had?
“Sorry about Vito,” he said.
“No. I’m sorry. If my place wasn’t such a disaster from moving across the country, I’d have invited you over.”
“Still, I didn’t think it through. I guess it was a muscle-memory thing. With you in the car, it sort of just steered its way over here.”
Part of her hoped that meant he hadn’t brought another woman here. The other part recognized that feeling was stupid and foolish.
“No big deal. I’m just so grateful you agreed to help me out. We have things to discuss and the least I can do is buy you dinner.”
“I’ll arm wrestle you when the check comes.” One dark eyebrow lifted. “Although you might want to rethink that offer. A budget is your friend when having a baby.”
“You are having a baby?” Vito stopped at their table and heard the last couple words. “There is no fooling me. I can spot lovers, no?” Then he frowned. “But a pregnant lady should not consume alcohol. Perhaps instead of a bottle just a glass for Dr. Nick. And sparkling cider for Mrs. Nick?”
She wasn’t Mrs. Nick anymore. And after all this, Ryleigh was prepared to tackle Vito if he tried to leave without pouring her at least one glass out of that bottle of cabernet.
“I’m not pregnant,” she said.
“No worry.” Vito shrugged. “So you are here to set a mood as you try.”
She started to say no and realized that was only half true. They weren’t here to get their mood on as much as talk about getting pregnant. But she had a feeling if she talked about talking, Vito would remind her that verbal communication was not the way to get the job done.
“We’d appreciate it if you’d open the bottle,” Nick said.
“With pleasure. And your Caesar salad will be served shortly.”
“But—”
The man held up his hand, then poured a glass of wine for each of them. “I remember your favorites. A salad to share. Bread sticks with marinara and alfredo sauces for dipping. Then Vito’s world famous lasagna, also to share. And tiramisu for dessert.” He winked. “You share everything.”
More memories crashed over her. He was right about all of it.
“You have to give him credit. Nothing wrong with his powers of recall.” Nick grinned and held up his wine. “To Vito.”
She clinked her glass to his. “Gotta love him.”
“So, you’re not settled yet?” He rested his forearm on the table.
“I’m renting a two-bedroom hospital-subsidized apartment until I can find something more permanent. I have a lot of stuff in storage.”
“Anything I can do to help?”
Only with the baby. She hoped he hadn’t changed his mind about that. But there was something else she remembered about Nick. Once he’d given his word, he wouldn’t go back on it. “That’s why we’re here.”
“The baby.”
“Yeah,” she agreed. “Or, more specifically, the rules of engagement.”
“Okay. Go.”
She thought for a moment. “First of all, I need to say that I don’t want to lose your friendship. So, if that’s going to be a problem, speak now—”
“Agreed.” But his blue eyes turned a little dark and broody.
“We need to keep it simple and uncomplicated. Although Vito will be disappointed about no romance. But that’s the best way to mess up a wonderful friendship.”
“That works for me.”
“No matter what,” she added emphatically.
“Do you want me to pinkie swear?” he asked, holding up his little finger.
“If that’s a guarantee—yes,” she said, crooking hers and curving it around his outstretched finger.
“Okay. What else?”
She dropped her hand into her lap as she thought. “That’s the only rule that comes to mind.”
He smiled. “Did that feel too easy to you?”
“Give me a minute. I’ll think of something