“I always wanted to be one. I think I saw myself as a Nancy Drew type when I was little,” she said.
“Oh, I liked Nancy Drew, too,” Jane said. “But solving crimes isn’t the same as being a reporter.”
Nichole put her fork and knife down and took a sip of her drink before she leaned forward. “When I was in high school, I had Mr. Fletcher for freshman English and he was the sponsor of the school newspaper. He liked my writing and told me I should join the newspaper staff. I did. I liked it,” she said.
“What did you like about it?” Conner asked, fascinated at learning more about her. Suddenly she wasn’t just a nosey reporter—hell, she’d never really been just that—but now she seemed more real to him.
“My family had a lot of secrets growing up. Stuff we didn’t talk about with each other or with anyone outside the family. That’s not healthy. I liked the fact that my job was to find out the truth, to report and let everyone know what was going on. It was such a change from my home life that I was addicted to it, I think.”
“Sort of like me and making this perfect lifestyle on television,” Jane said. “In real life I’m so not perfect.”
“I’d have to disagree,” Palmer said.
“You don’t know me well enough to disagree,” Jane said, wrinkling her nose at Palmer.
“I’m trying to,” he said with a laugh.
Nichole picked up her fork and toyed with the asparagus on her plate. Conner wanted to know more. What kind of secrets had she learned to keep? He doubted it was anything like the ones his father had kept. But when she looked up and caught him staring at her, he smiled gently in her direction and she blushed.
“What made you decide to do a cooking and lifestyle show?” Nichole asked.
“I always liked to make my room a retreat. So I started learning how to sew and craft things. And then when we had to leave our home in the Hamptons there was a six-month period where we didn’t have a cook—do you remember?” she asked, turning to her brother.
“I do,” he said. “You started cooking for Mom and me.”
“Well, Mom is an excellent fund-raiser and bridge player, but the woman cannot cook,” Jane said with a laugh.
“Sounds like you found your calling,” Nichole said.
“I did,” Jane admitted. “I just liked the feeling I had when Mom and Conner ate my food. I made them happy and life was good while we were sitting around the table.”
Conner wished Janey wouldn’t talk like that in front of Nichole. He had no idea what she’d print about him or his sister. He had nothing but her word that she’d only use what she learned in an interview.
“I feel the same way about being at my mother’s kitchen table,” Palmer said. “We have a cook but my mama likes to cook for me and my brothers. There is such a feeling of love in the dishes she prepares.”
“What about you, Nichole?” Jane asked. “Are you like me or your mom?”
Nichole nibbled her bottom lip, something he realized she did when she wasn’t sure what to say. “I don’t know. It’s just me at home and I don’t cook much for myself. But I think maybe someday, if I have a family, I’d like to create something special like you or Palmer’s mom do.”
He didn’t like the thought of Nichole having a family someday and he didn’t want to acknowledge why it disturbed him. He knew he wouldn’t be the man in her life and he didn’t like the thought of another man being with her.
“That’s sweet,” Jane said.
“What about you, brother?”
“What about me? I’m never getting married. I like my freedom too much.”
“I don’t believe that’s true, but that’s a conversation for another night,” Jane said.
“What about me, darling Jane? Don’t you want to know what I’d want?”
“No. I know what you want and it sounds like someone else’s dream,” she said. “How about some dessert?”
Jane pushed her chair back and stood up. Palmer watched her go and Conner had to admit that he felt sorry for his friend.
“I’ll help Jane with the dishes,” Nichole said, gathering the remaining plates before she went into the kitchen.
“Why is your sister such a stubborn woman?” Palmer asked, his Brazilian accent heavier than normal. “I could make her happy.”
Ordinarily Conner wouldn’t have offered any advice. He made it a policy to stay out of Jane’s personal life so that she’d stay out of his. But he liked Palmer and he wanted his friend to be happy. “She doesn’t trust happy.”
“What do you mean?”
“The last time she was truly happy and trusted someone, it blew up in her face.”
“You mean your father?” Palmer asked.
“Yes.”
“There’s been no man since then?” he asked.
“Not that I know of,” Conner said.
“Then I will have to work twice as hard to show her that she can trust me,” Palmer said. “That I am nothing like your father was.”
“That’s going to be hard,” Conner said. “Our father did a lot of damage.”
The door to the dining room opened and Nichole was standing there. He knew she’d heard his comments and he hated that. If she were just a dinner party guest, he could pretend it meant nothing, but she was a reporter bent on digging up his past.
Jane came back with a coffee tray and a fake smile. She was overly animated and it was almost painful to watch her pretend to be the perfect hostess now when they’d seen her genuinely enjoying herself earlier. The tension between Palmer and Jane was palpable.
Nichole must have felt the same way because as soon as dessert was eaten, she glanced at her watch and said she had an early morning and had to go.
“I’ll walk you out,” Conner said. He hated that years later his father still had the power to hurt both him and his sister. It wasn’t fair that neither of them had found a way to heal from those lies.
“Okay,” Nichole said. “But I don’t think it’s necessary.”
“Maybe he wants to be in your company,” Palmer said. “Sometimes a man just wants to prove himself to a woman.”
“Or maybe I’m ready to leave as well,” Conner said.
He got that Palmer was talking to Jane, but he didn’t want Nichole to get any ideas about what he had in mind for them.
Nichole was tired and just wanted to get home. What had started out as a fun and interesting night had become a little tense as she rode down in the elevator with Conner. Especially when he reached out, pushed the stop button and turned to her.
“Everything that Jane said tonight was off the record. I don’t want to see that showing up in your column tomorrow morning,” he said.
She sighed and wanted to punch him hard in the stomach. “I already said I have ethics. When are you going to get it? I don’t write about what my friends say at their dinner parties. Your warning shows me that I was completely wrong about you from the beginning.”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“I thought maybe we could have a chance as a couple.”
“I