He’d been feeling out of sorts for most of the day. Sitting across the table from her wasn’t helping.
“You and Sebastian have always tried to run herd on me, and I didn’t want you taking up where you left off before you...”
She didn’t finish the sentence. What had she been about to say? Before he divorced? Before he left for the United States? Before he’d caught her in her “barely theres” in that damned exam room?
“Your brother and I were worried about you, that’s all.”
“You babied me. From the moment I got my diagnosis. It was irritating.”
“If Sebastian had been diagnosed with cancer, what would you have done?”
Her brows puckered for a few seconds. Then she took a deep breath. “I probably would have done some of the same things. But not to the ridiculous extent that you both went to.”
“I’m pretty sure I remember you flipping out when Sebastian broke his arm, threatening to ‘flatten’ whoever had tripped him in the school hallway that day.”
“Someone told me the person did it on purpose.”
“See? You were protecting him.” He took another drink of his beer. “The same way we both protected you.”
Her jaw lifted to a dangerous angle. “We? There’s a difference between you and Sebastian. You are not my brother. And I’m not your sister.”
She didn’t need to tell him that. Not any more. But it stung that she’d just put him firmly in his place...as an outsider. “Maybe not. But I’m your brother’s friend.”
And that brother was fiercely protective of his sister. He’d never approved of any boy...or man...who’d been attracted to her. It was probably a normal sibling reaction. Adam had always been careful to keep on the right side of that barrier, never allowing even the slightest hint of interest to show in his words or actions. Not that there’d been any interest between him and Sebastian’s sister. They were too far apart in age and too close in other ways. And Adam did not have a good track record when it came to relationships.
Like his high school girlfriend? He’d messed up big that time. Or how about his ex-wife?
Not a good track record at all.
Much better to stay friends with Natália than to ruin things forever.
“Yes, well, that doesn’t give you a license to criticize my choices.”
“Whoa.” He held up his hands. “Exactly how did I criticize you?”
“Well, you...” She swirled her drink in her glass. “I’m sure you would have if I’d actually had a date there in the car with me.”
That made him chuckle. “Would you have introduced him to me?”
“Absolutely not.” She stood up and held out her hand for the empty plate. “Are you finished?”
“Yes, with everything except for this.” He held up the Cellophane wrapper that contained a fortune cookie. “We should probably open it and see what it says.”
There was only one cookie, since there had only been one order of food. He wasn’t even sure why he’d mentioned it, except that he couldn’t remember a time he and Nata had shared a meal together. Not without her brother or someone else being there. He was loath to bring the time to an end for some reason. Maybe because she had called him for help, rather than another friend or her brother.
The slight frown she’d carried all evening disappeared. “If it says something about being unlucky in love I’m going to be seriously ticked.” Then she stopped. “I’m sorry, Adam, I wasn’t directing that at you.”
“It’s okay.” He’d already been unlucky in love, not once but twice. Not much could be worse than what he’d been through on either of those occasions. “There’s not much chance of it predicting my future with any accuracy.”
He helped her clear the table, carrying the cookie with them into the kitchen.
“You’re never planning on getting married again?”
“Nope. Once was more than enough.”
“But what about that big family you said you wanted?” Natália didn’t look at him, making short work of scraping the plates and setting them into hot soapy water she’d prepared a few seconds earlier. “Not everyone is like Priscilla.”
He didn’t really want to discuss his ex. Or children. Or hear Nata say he could very well find someone amazing, if he gave women a chance. “Do you want me to make coffee?”
“Yes, please. The grounds are in the cabinet to your left.”
“No fancy pod system?”
“I prefer to do things the old-fashioned way. It helps me appreciate it more.”
Adam wasn’t going to even touch that one. Because he could think of at least one thing that he preferred to do the old-fashioned way as well. And it didn’t involve coffee. Instead he got busy measuring out the grounds and filled the machine with water. He’d only had one beer, but somehow his head was a little fuzzy, as if he’d spent the night at the bar. Maybe it was just everything that had happened: the distress call, those thugs at the yakisoba place, finding out that she hadn’t had a date after all.
Within ten minutes they were in the living room with a tray, two coffees and the lone fortune cookie between them. Natália settled on the couch, and he set the tray on the table and lowered himself beside her.
She picked up her mug and took a deep sip of the contents, wrapping her hands around it and holding it close to her lips. Her eyes shut for a second. “Perfect. Thank you.”
“I aim to please.”
Those words came out all rough-edged, loaded with a meaning that had nothing to do with coffee. He purposely cleared his throat, to make it seem like that was to blame and not his own damned inner processes that had been running rampant all day.
He picked up the fortune cookie and tossed it in the air, catching it with a flick of his wrist and shoving his open palm toward her. “I think you should do the honors.”
It definitely shouldn’t be him. Not when he was suddenly aware of every move she made...of every glance she angled toward him. Of those damned panties that he knew lay just beneath her sensible clothing. Down that path was madness and irresponsibility. And self-destruction.
Natália’s brown eyes met his for a second and then she set her mug down and plucked the fortune cookie from his palm. Her lips twisted to one side. “Chicken.”
Yes. He was. And he was okay with that label. It was better than some of the angry accusations he was currently throwing at himself.
The crinkling of plastic seemed louder than normal. He set his own coffee down as he waited for her to finish opening the package. Then it was in her hand. “We’ll split it.”
She broke the cookie in two and handed him the half without the little slip of paper sticking out of it. Then, gripping the fortune with her thumb and forefinger, she teased it from its home. Popping her half of the cookie in her mouth, she turned the paper over so she could read it.
Her jaws suddenly stopped chewing, her eyes widening in something akin to horror.
“What?” he asked. “It’s not predicting one of our deaths, is it?”
He didn’t really think it was, but the color was seeping out of her cheeks. “Do you want me to read it?”
Her mouth went back to working on the food, moving in jerky starts and stops before her throat moved and she swallowed.
Something was bothering her. “What does it say, Nata?”
She