Shane went on like nothing out of the ordinary had happened. “Like I told you before, I want to take a friend for a nice dinner. I haven’t been out in a while and I don’t want a lot of people bugging us.” After a pause he added, “I know you were only kidding around, you idiot. We’re coming in now.”
Shane tucked the phone into his jacket pocket. “I’m going to open your door for you, but you need to give me a minute or three to get over there.”
“You don’t have to.” That he’d thought about it was enough.
He let out a breath. “I don’t know when I’ll need to take you back up to New York. I want us to have a nice date. I may only have this one chance to get it right.” He reached into the backseat to get his cane. “So you just sit tight and let me open your damn door.”
So gruff yet so thoughtful. The dichotomy of Shane Develen.
Chapter Sixteen
His other best friend from high school, Robbie, stood in the doorway of the restaurant’s kitchen, dressed in his white chef jacket and gray pants. He had his hair pulled back and covered with a black bandana. No chef’s hat for him. He watched their approach, leaning on the wood frame with his arms crossed over his chest. Shane tried not to feel self-conscious of his limp, or his cane or his eye patch and glasses. This is who I am now. Accept it or fuck off.
About ten steps away, Robbie, who matched Shane in height but not weight, pushed open the screen door, jogged toward them and threw his arms around Shane’s shoulders, almost knocking him to the ground.
“Be careful,” Brooke cautioned.
Robbie wasn’t.
Thank God for that. Shane wasn’t some fragile invalid in danger of breaking, and he didn’t want to be treated like one.
“I’m so glad you made it home alive, you stupid shit.”
Shane smiled at the “stupid shit,” glad to know Robbie wouldn’t hold back, that nothing had changed between them.
Only everything had changed, because Shane had changed. Years of violence and death had killed his sense of humor and stolen his social nature. At the age of twenty-six he felt decades older and all used up.
“I’m going to assume the explosion that knocked you on your ass over there also rattled your brain so hard it screwed up your thinking,” Robbie said. “Which is the only acceptable explanation I can come up with to explain why you refused to see me every single time I came to visit you since you got home.”
“Assume what you want,” Shane said, hugging him back with his right arm clamped around Robbie’s upper back, while leaning heavily on his cane to support his worthless leg.
Robbie loosened his grip, but Shane held on, not ready to let go of his friend, fighting off a flood of emotion he didn’t want anyone to see. As happy as he was to be here with Robbie after so long, it made him think of Tommy. Inseparable throughout high school, they would never again prowl for girls, get drunk and raise hell, or laugh or tease or just hang out, the three of them together.
Robbie slapped his back. “I missed you, man.”
Shane took a deep, hopefully calming breath and stepped back, needing to change the subject before he lost it.
He cleared his throat. “Robbie, I’d like you to meet my friend, Brooke.”
Robbie placed his hand low on his belly and bent into a formal bow. “I’m the chef who will be preparing the delicious cuisine you are about to feast on.” He held out his hand.
“Nice to meet you,” Brooke said, with a slight bow in return as she shook his hand, so poised and well-mannered. She smiled. “Thank you, in advance, for the wonderful meal.”
“I like her,” Robbie said, looking Brooke up and down. “But, honey, I’ve gotta know. What does a beautiful, classy girl like you see in this reclusive bozo?” He shot a thumb in Shane’s direction.
“It’s the eye patch,” Shane answered, so she wouldn’t have to struggle to come up with something. Or, worse, stand there mute. “I’ve been told I have a mysterious pirate thing going on. Apparently women dig it. Who knew?”
Robbie nodded in agreement. “Hot damn. Can you score one for me?”
Lucky for Robbie, Brooke’s presence kept Shane from giving him a hard shove. “Not while you’re dating my little sister, you ass.” A development Shane was having some difficulty coming to terms with.
Robbie snapped his fingers. “Right. Forgot about that.” He winked at Brooke, having a little too much fun at Shane’s expense. But, damn, there were things friends knew that big brothers should never know about the men who date their sisters.
The screen door creaked open and Robbie’s annoying cousin walked out, wearing the black pants, white shirt, and black bow tie typical of the waitstaff.
“You didn’t,” Shane said, feeling the beginnings of a smile, payback for Robbie getting under his skin about Lucy.
“Dad said I had to.” Hire his obnoxious cousin, that is, something Robbie vowed he would never do, which explained why his face looked the same as it did the morning after he, Shane, and Tommy had hunkered down and taken turns finishing off a stolen bottle of his father’s Grappa at the age of sixteen. Good times.
Shane smiled at the memory.
“Orders are backing up, Rob,” Sal Jr. said, but his eyes were locked on Brooke. “Who is this beautiful gift from the gods?” He lifted Brooke’s hand to his mouth and kissed her palm.
Shane leaned over and told her, “Make sure you wash that before you eat.”
“Knock it off, Sally,” Robbie said, using the nickname Sal Jr. hated. “This is Brooke. Shane’s girl. I’d back off if I were you.”
Like words or a date who could easily kick his ass would stop Sal Jr. in his pursuit of a woman.
“Nice to meet you, Brooke.” He studied her, not letting go of her hand. “I know you from somewhere.”
Brooke glanced up at Shane, looking uncomfortable and worried and ready to run.
“He’s harmless,” Shane said. In case his verbal reassurance wasn’t enough, he wrapped his right arm around Brooke’s shoulders. If Sal Jr. didn’t stay harmless, Shane would render him so with a quick uppercut to the jaw.
“Don’t do it,” Robbie warned, knowing Shane too well. “Or you’ll have to wait tables tonight.” Then to Sal he said, “Get back to work.” And to Brooke, “Please excuse my cousin. He’s a prime example of why you should never hire family.”
But Sal stayed focused on Brooke. “Someplace recent.”
Brooke stepped closer into Shane’s side and tried to ease her hand away from Sal Jr.
Shane held her tightly. “Come on.” He started to walk, bringing her with him.
“I got it,” Sal Jr. said, stepping in front of Brooke. Too. Damn. Close. “I remember where I saw you.”
Brooke jerked to a stop and went rigid.
Shane glared at Sal Jr. in warning.
Robbie looked ready to dive between them.
“In my dreams,” Sal said, appraising Brooke from head to toe. “Of course, you weren’t wearing near as many clothes.”
Shane expected Brooke to be appalled, and rightly so. What he didn’t expect was for her to speak out.
“Do women in this town actually take that line as a compliment?” she asked, sounding truly interested to know. “I’m assuming that’s how it was intended.” Her tone made it clear that’s not how she’d taken it.
Brooke may look sweet and innocent, but she could hold her own. Shane smiled again. It felt good.
Robbie smiled, too.
Sal Jr. persisted, never passing up the opportunity to put the moves on Robbie’s, Shane’s, and/or Tommy’s girlfriends, so full of himself, he actually thought himself capable of stealing one away. Though, to date, he never had. That didn’t stop him from pretending to look remorseful as he shook his head. “It’s awful, I know. I try but…” He let out a long, pitiful sigh. “Hey, I know.” He lifted his eyebrows, probably trying to look hopeful. “Maybe you’d help me get it right, tutor me in what women want, what they like, how to make them feel special. We
could meet for lunch. Or dinner. You could come to my place—”
Robbie shut Sal Jr. up with a slap to the back of his head then dragged him away by his shirt collar. “Down, boy.” Sal Jr. gagged and clutched at his throat dramatically.
“I’m sorry,” Robbie said, getting control of Sal Jr. and pushing him back into the kitchen.
“Please tell me he’s not our waiter,” Shane said.
“He’s only allowed in the family part of the restaurant.”
“Because the ladies love me,” Sal Jr. said, stumbling to a stop. Problem was, he really believed his overinflated opinion of himself. Always had. And some women actually did fall for his bullshit.
“They feel sorry for you,” Robbie said. “Because you’re so tiny.”
“Compact is where it’s at.” Sal Jr. twisted out of Robbie’s hold, adjusted his bow tie, and stood tall—well, as tall as a guy just over five feet tall could. “No wasted space.”
“Except between your ears,” Shane said, falling right into the same routine from years of dealing with Robbie’s pesky cousin.
Robbie shot Shane a fist bump then told Sal Jr., “Now, get back to work or you’re fired.”
Sal Jr. looked ready to argue, but Sal Sr., Robbie’s dad, and the head chef/owner of Sal’s Place, appeared and said, “Both of you get back to work. Or you’re both fired.”
Sal Jr. scurried off.
“Hey, Mr. P,” Shane said, before he could yell at Robbie.
“Shane?” Sal Sr. asked. “Is that you?” His eyes went misty. “Get over here.” He held out his beefy arms, making his round belly look even bigger. “It’s been too long. Too, too long.”
Shane gave him a hug, the familiar scent of tomato sauce, Parmesan cheese, and Old Spice bringing back so many fond memories. “Yes it has, sir. I’m sorry this is the first time I’m coming by to see you.”
“You’re here now. That’s what matters.”
“You’ll take them to table three, Pop?” Robbie asked. Then with a “We’re all set for tomorrow. See you then,” directed at Shane, he disappeared around a corner.
After Shane introduced Brooke, Sal Sr. said, “Come.” They followed him through the noisy kitchen. “Wait until you see what my Robbie does with our catering room when it’s not booked on Friday and Saturday nights,” he said with fatherly pride. “For couples only.” He glanced back at Brooke. “The women love it.”
The farther they walked up the hallway, the louder the dinner crowd got. A baby cried. A child screamed. Shane started to worry the “Couples Only” dining room wouldn’t be nearly as romantic as Lucy had promised.
They came to the entrance to the main dining room, but instead of going right, Sal Sr. turned left, through a pair of glass doors. When the doors closed behind them, Shane felt transported into a different world.
Gone were the worn carpet, old dance floor, and gold and red velvety wallpaper, replaced by hardwood floors and white walls lined with large oval mirrors framed in black. Twenty or so small two-person tables were positioned along the perimeter of the room, separated by fancy black partitions for optimum privacy. Candles lit each occupied nook, and, overhead, the recessed lighting gave off a dim glow. In the center of the room stood a huge black piano, where a man dressed in a tuxedo played soft music. At the back of the room a fire burned in the fireplace.
“What do you think?” Sal Sr. asked quietly.
Shane felt closed in; not enough light to adequately assess for threats—only one point of entry/exit that he could tell. The candles, the flickering flames…he hadn’t been close to fire since…the scent…burning…Medic! I need a medic….
“It’s lovely.” Brooke’s voice stopped his descent into memories of war. She took his hand in hers and gave it a squeeze. “Perfect,” she added with a beautiful smile for Sal Sr., who motioned to one of the waitresses. When she came over he said, “These two are my special guests. Give them anything they want. On the house.”
“Thank you, Mr. P., but that’s not necessary.” Shane didn’t need charity. He could afford to take Brooke out for a nice evening.
“Let me treat you,” Sal Sr. said, patting Shane’s cheek. “Let me do something nice for the war hero, eh?”
He wanted to yell, loud enough for everyone in town to hear, “Serving the country I love, doing the job I was trained to do, and getting injured while doing it does not make me a war hero! Killing people does not make me a hero!”
As if Brooke could sense his turmoil, she rubbed his forearm soothingly, her touch actually calming him. He looked over to catch her staring up at him. She smiled, and it was like only the two of them existed. “That’s nice of him to offer, don’t you think?” she asked.
It took him a few seconds to realize they were not, in fact, the only two people on the planet. Too bad. He turned to Sal Sr., who stood there with a knowing grin. “Yes, it is. Thank you, sir.”
The waitress, a young blond woman, said, “If you’ll follow me, please.”
They did, to a table in the far rear corner. Problem was, with the way the chairs were set, he’d either have his back to the dark alcove that led to he didn’t know where, or to the rest of the room/entrance. Neither position ideal.
“Which side do you want?” Brooke asked.
He looked to the left, then right, weighing the pros and cons, trying to determine which seat would make him feel less vulnerable, while berating himself. He was back on U.S. soil, damn it, and shouldn’t be carrying on like some lunatic, preparing for an attack.
Before he’d made up his mind, Brooke pulled the table away from the wall and moved one chair so it backed up against the wall, giving the person who sat there a full view of the room. “Is it okay if we sit like this?” she asked the waitress.
“Of course.” The young girl helped her move the place settings.
When they sat down Brooke said, “I like it better this way. It’s cozier.” With them sitting catty-corner as opposed to facing each other.
Yes, it was. He bumped his knee into hers, knowing that’s not why she had done it. “How did you know?” That being able to see the whole room and sit with his back protected would put him at ease?
“I’ve read several soldier memoirs, from veterans of the Iraq and Afghanistan wars, to help me understand what you were going through over there.” She busied herself with placing her napkin in her lap, not looking at him as she added, “And the challenges soldiers face upon returning home.” She met his gaze and gave a little shrug. “So I could help you, if you needed my help.”
She’d already helped him more than she could ever know. He was here today because of her. And he felt certain she’d positioned herself to his right, his good side, on purpose, so he could see her without having to turn his head, and so he could stretch out his left leg. Because that was Brooke. Always looking out for others. So easy to love. Too bad she deserved a man better than him—a life better than the one he could give her.
“Thank you,” he said, meaning it from the bottom of his heart.
Seeming uncomfortable with his appreciation, she flashed him a small smile, and opened her menu. She looked so beautiful in the candlelight, so special, for so many reasons. “Everything looks delicious.”
She looked delicious. God help him, Shane wanted her so much, wanted to love her and make love to her like she deserved to be loved, even if only for one night. We may not have forever, but we have right now.
Ah, shit.
Robbie’s older brother, Pat, who worked at the bar, walked toward their table carrying a fancy silver ice bucket, the top covered by a white cloth, and a matching wire stand. When he set it down beside their table, he said, “Heard a real stunner dragged your sorry ass out of hiding.” He flashed Brooke the handsome smile women fought to have directed at them, then turned his attention back to Shane. “Brought over some of my best bubbly to celebrate your dumb luck in finding a woman willing to put up with you.”
Brooke’s eyes slid to the ice bucket, and she swallo
wed. “Thank you for that lovely gesture, but I don’t drink champagne.” She turned to Shane. “Don’t let that stop you from enjoying it.”
Shane almost laughed. There wasn’t champagne in that bucket. But he found no humor at all in Brooke’s obvious discomfort. Or the probable reason she didn’t drink champagne—because some deviant had used it to incapacitate her so he could take advantage of an innocent teenager. A fact he found downright enraging.
“It’s not—” Shane started, stopping abruptly when Pat whipped back the napkin to reveal six bottles of Bud on ice.
“This here’s blue-collar bubbly,” Pat said. “The only thing this loser drinks, despite my exceptional skill as a mixologist.”
Brooke smiled, her cheeks flushed.
To take the attention off of her, Shane said, “That’s what you’re calling yourself these days? A ‘mixologist’? What’s wrong with plain old bartender, you poser?”
“Changing with the times,” Pat said, unfazed. “You should try it. Let me bring you a—”
“I like beer.” End of discussion.
Pat shook his head in disgust.
Brooke looked back and forth between them, smiling. And a pretty girl smiling at him was all the incentive Pat needed to go full-on flirt. “Allow me to introduce myself, since your doofus of a date has no manners.”
Shane shut him down by getting the formalities out of the way, hoping Pat would leave so he could finally have Brooke to himself: “Brooke, this is Pat, Robbie’s engaged brother. Pat, this is Brooke.”
“A lovely name for a lovely woman,” Pat said, laying it on thick.
“Nice to meet you, Pat.” Brooke smiled.
“You don’t look like the beer type.”
No, she didn’t. Brooke looked like the white-wine-spritzer type. Come to find out Shane liked that look. A lot.
Pat added, “Please tell me you have a more adventurous palate.”
Loving You Is Easy Page 16
