Can't Stop Loving You

by Miranda Liasson

  That’s when she saw Roman walking down the darkly varnished wooden floor with Brad Rushford himself. Bella’s heart thunked hard against her ribs, which startled her and made her cheeks suddenly heat. Just once she wished she wouldn’t have a full-blown fight-or-flight reaction to the mere fact that he’d walked into a room.

  He looked elegantly handsome in a black suit, white shirt, and red tie. And was that a briefcase he was carrying? Here she’d thought nothing could beat seeing him in jeans and work boots. Women were staring at the two men, and she could see why. Tall, broad shouldered, sinfully sexy, both of them. But especially Roman, who never failed to send her heart plummeting into a free fall faster than an Olympic diver.

  She’d loved spending time with him the other night, tasting his apple brandy. She was excited for his plans for the farm and felt honored that he’d shared them with her. It was a step toward closure.

  How could she even begin to tell him she’d lied to get him to leave? That terrified her beyond words. Yet strangely, she was coming to believe it might be necessary, for herself. To fully face the past. To come clean once and for all, regardless of the consequences. But now that they were finally starting to become friends again, she was wary of disturbing their fragile truce. And of letting him see the truth, that she’d truly loved him. That she’d faced an awful choice. And that she’d made that choice without him.

  Just then, Roman glanced her way and saw her. She smiled and gave a little wave. He smiled back, and, Lord, that smile hit her in all the right places. She pretended to check her phone, because . . . well, because she was alone and she suddenly didn’t know where to look to avoid staring at him.

  The two men shook hands, then Roman began walking toward her.

  Easy there, lassie, her inner voice chided. He’s probably just coming to say hi. But her entire nervous system had flipped into overheat mode. Could it be . . . could it be that he was her mystery date? Keep an open mind, her friends had advised.

  Maybe he’d decided to meet her tonight to explore whatever it was that was going on between them. Maybe getting everything out in the open would be the best thing for them both. This would be their first step forward, and who knows where it would lead? He really was the best damn looking man she’d ever seen, hands down. And he was walking straight in her direction . . .

  Just as he’d almost reached the bar, Roman was intercepted by another man. One in a tweed jacket. A tweed jacket Bella would recognize anywhere, because she’d picked it up from the dry cleaners herself last week. Ethan.

  Ethan pushed up his sexy-in-a-geeky-way glasses that he was wearing instead of his contacts tonight and shook hands with Roman. “Roman. Hi. What brings you here?”

  “Business with Brad,” he said guardedly. “How about you?”

  “Oh, Bella and I were just about to have dinner.”

  Bella stood and walked over to them. “We’re having dinner?” she asked. Somehow, she felt the need to make it clear to Roman that she was not in on this plan. Although she chided herself for feeling that way. Why should she care if Roman thought she and Ethan were meeting for a casual dinner? They were friends. Sometimes they did do just that. So why did this entire situation feel so strange?

  Ethan turned around, surprised to see her standing there. “Oh, hey, Bells.” He kissed her on the cheek. “Surprise,” he said a little sheepishly.

  Yep, it was indeed. A surprise.

  “Nice to see you both,” Roman said, but he was looking at her. Frowning. “I’ll leave you both to enjoy your dinner.” He clapped Ethan once on the back and left. Just like that.

  “I got a table for us outside,” Ethan said, gesturing to the outdoor patio built right on the lake.

  She should be thrilled. Sitting outside at her favorite restaurant on a perfect early-fall evening with a fire pit and propane heaters to chase the chill was her idea of a fantastic evening. Then why was she . . . irritated?

  Oh, she knew exactly why. Her heart squeezed a little tightly as the unwelcome realization fully dawned: Ethan was not Roman. For a brief moment, she’d thought Roman had arranged a date with her, and that thought had made her . . . excited. Happy, even.

  As the hostess led them to their table, something made her glance toward the door. Roman was leaning against it, staring at her. When she caught his gaze, he pushed his back against it and made his exit out of the restaurant.

  Ethan pulled out her chair and she went through the motions of sliding into it. A waitress appeared, gave them the evening-special spiel, and left them looking at the menus.

  Their usual conversation was stilted. Ethan was painfully quiet. Their usual easy rapport had checked out for the night.

  Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore. “Ethan,” she said quietly.

  He looked up nervously. A little pang of dread poked at her insides.

  “Tell me what this is all about.”

  “Your date was a no-show. Sam was upset about it, so I told her I’d happily step in.” He sounded nonchalant, casual. But she wasn’t buying it.

  They’d had dinner together lots of times. Occasionally they’d even gone fancy like this. But this didn’t feel like any of their fun dinners. It felt gut twisting. Uncomfortable. Wrong. Finally, she grabbed his hand. “Why did you step in, Ethan?”

  He set down his menu and finally made eye contact. Heaved a big sigh. “Because I had to, Bells. I just had to.”

  Bella had had enough experience with men to know by the earnest look in his eyes that he was going to tell her things she didn’t want to hear. Then she would have to tell him things that would hurt him. And she would rather die than do that. He’d been her best friend, helped her out of the abyss she’d fallen into after she’d lost everything. He’d made her feel beautiful and special, and she didn’t regret a single moment with him. She would do anything not to hurt this kind, gentle man.

  Why, oh why, couldn’t she love him? I mean, she did, but like a friend. Not like how it had been with Roman.

  “I’m tired of pretending we’re just friends,” he said. “It’s not like that for me. And don’t say it’s because I just broke up with somebody, because that’s why I broke up with her. She wasn’t you. I—I love you, Bella.”

  Her eyes misted over with tears. “Ethan, we should go somewhere and talk about this,” she said in a low voice.

  He grasped her hand even tighter. “We’re so natural together. I can tell you anything. We laugh and tell stories and . . . no, Bella. Don’t look at me like that. I’ve been thinking about this for a long time.”

  Guilt gnawed at Bella’s stomach. “I love you like a friend,” she whispered. “I’ll never forget what you did for me. But I can’t love you like . . . that.”

  “Maybe you can. Maybe you just can’t admit it to yourself.”

  Usually she loved that he was always such an optimist. But not today. “Why now?” She couldn’t help but think this had something to do with Roman’s sudden reappearance.

  “I’ve been thinking about this for quite a while. Maybe with Roman back, I . . . I don’t know. I need you to know how I feel. Make it clear. It’s time for me to take a stand.”

  “Oh, Ethan.”

  “Look, do me a favor. I know it’s a bit of a shock, but just think about it for a while.” He was beseeching her. No—begging. Ethan was an honest man, incapable of hiding his feelings. She saw everything in his eyes. She wondered if any of this had been there all along and she’d never seen it. Or didn’t want to, because she’d needed him, if not as a lover, then as a friend. He’d always been her voice of reason, her cheerleader. The one to calm her down when she was upset, the one to bolster her when she needed confidence.

  Shame washed over her. In her need for him, had she led him to believe things that weren’t true? She’d thought of herself as a strong woman, but maybe she’d become dependent on his friendship in a way that had kept him from moving forward. Maybe both of them, because Ethan was always available, always there to comfort and s
oothe and . . .

  “Ethan—”

  “Look, I didn’t mean to upset you. Let’s have dinner and let that sit for a while, okay?” He released her hand and sat back, a tentative expression on his face. She forced a smile to her lips and tried to make small talk. When his phone rang with an emergency, she thanked God for answering her prayers.

  He kissed her again on the cheek, asking her to think about what he’d said, hoping he hadn’t put her off. But she knew what she knew—that she would never love him with the bone-crushing love she’d once had for Roman Spikonos.

  And the worst thought of all—maybe she wasn’t as done with Roman as she liked to think.

  “Anybody home?”

  Roman startled a little at the sound of someone at his back door. Unexpected visitors didn’t tend to show up too often. Not that the orchards were that far from town, but the long driveway wound quite a distance from the street, through the orchards and some woodland, too. He turned from the ancient white porcelain stove to see Joey D’Angelo standing there, his prominent adolescent nose pressed against the screen.

  Seeing Joey reminded him of seeing Bella the night before in Brad Rushford’s restaurant. With Ethan. Suddenly, the hunger he’d felt smelling his lunch cook turned to queasiness.

  “Hi, Joe. C’mon in.” Roman opened the door, then went back to flip the flat rectangles of steak sandwich meat he’d been cooking for his lunch. “How you doing?” The kid stayed outside, so Roman turned off the gas and went back and held the door open.

  “I have Gracie with me,” Joey said.

  “She can come in, too.” The dog waltzed into his kitchen like she owned the joint, and promptly crotch-butted him. As Roman stooped to pet the dog, Joey looked at him warily, making Roman wonder what he’d heard about him from his dad, and how bad it was. There was a time, many years ago, when the kid had worshipped Roman. At eighteen, Joe was a much harder sell. “I’m making lunch,” Roman said. “You hungry?”

  “I’m just delivering some leftovers from my sister.”

  He hoped they weren’t laced with arsenic. He’d made a real effort with that friends spiel and he’d almost believed it, too—until he’d spotted Bella with Ethan last night.

  He took the container Joe handed him and cracked open the lid. The pungent scents of oregano and basil promptly wafted up. Big, round meatballs were dusted with Parmesan and sat in a hefty red sauce he was sure was homemade. A kind gesture. Mouthwatering, too. “Thanks,” he said. Was she trying to mitigate her father’s unneighborly behavior? Or was it some kind of peace offering after he’d seen her with Ethan?

  Ethan. It occurred to him Joe might be able to shed some light on the status of their relationship, but it was pretty clear the kid didn’t trust him. “I’m making a steak sandwich. Want one?”

  “No, thanks.” The kid was too smart to take a bribe.

  The dog, however, wasn’t. Entranced by the smell of cooking meat, she sat frozen in front of the stove with her nose in the air, her entire body overtaken by the one hope that someone might toss her a morsel.

  “Well, I better get back,” Joe said. “We just got a new shipment of mums I’ve got to put out. I swear, people are buying those up like hotcakes. I don’t get it. I mean, once the frost comes, that’s it, they’re done.” He was eyeing the sandwich with undisguised hunger.

  Roman sawed the sandwich in half and put it on two plates, then pushed one toward the kid. “Help yourself,” he said. He gave a half a piece of steak meat to the dog, who inhaled it in one bite.

  Joe thanked him and sat reluctantly. For a minute, they ate in silence. Except for the sound of the dog’s tail thumping as she kept an eagle eye out for a handout or a carelessly dropped bit of food. “Look, Joe, whatever your father has said, I’m not the enemy. I mean no disrespect—to your father or anyone. I just want to run my business.”

  “Bella said the same thing. I get it.”

  The dog sidled up to Roman’s leg. He pulled another piece of meat out of his sandwich and tossed it to her. Because, at this point, he needed as many people on his side as he could get.

  Joe put down the sandwich. “It’s just that my sister’s been through a lot. I don’t want to see her hurt again.”

  Those words made Roman like the kid even more. He clearly had his loyalties, and Roman respected that. But then, Bella had essentially raised him, and who wouldn’t love her? He wondered how it really was for her after he’d left. Raising Joe, working, studying for her own degrees.

  “I think very highly of your sister,” Roman said, then he wisely changed the subject.

  “So senior year’s going good?” Hard to believe Joe was eighteen. He still saw him as the three-year-old he and Bella used to take to Dairy Flip, sitting in his car seat with a stream of melted chocolate ice cream trickling down his chin.

  Joe sighed. “Most of my college apps are in. But I’m looking for a second job. I want to buy a car to take to college.”

  “I could use a little help.” The words were out before he could think. Well, why not? Joe could use a break, and maybe he could backdoor into Vito’s civility via his son. “It would involve clearing scrap from the roof, loading the Dumpster, some cleaning, and some painting. Hourly work. You interested?”

  “Yeah, if you don’t mind me working it in with everything else.”

  “When you’re able to come, you come.”

  “Okay. But I want to be paid in cash. And my dad can’t know.”

  If Roman could count the things he’d done that Vito didn’t know, he’d be a rich man. But this time around, he didn’t want to keep any more secrets. “Maybe you should tell him up front,” Roman suggested.

  “I’ll handle my dad.”

  All right, then. “Come over when you can. I’ll put you on the clock.” Roman tossed the dog one last bite of meat. She ate it and then stretched out at his feet, her head on his shoe. He bent over to pet her back. Now that her coat wasn’t all tangled, it was actually kind of silky.

  “Sounds great.” Joe took another bite of sandwich. “Bella has another date tonight.”

  “With Ethan?” he asked.

  “Nope. Bruno Santoro.”

  Please God, not Bruno the Mooner. Roman tried not to grimace. Way back in high school, Bruno had suffered a bad breakup with Jess Martin and decided after a couple of beers to show the world how pissed off he was. Until the cops caught him driving past the town diner flashing his naked ass out the passenger window of his friend’s beat-up Chevy Malibu, thus giving birth to his unshakable nickname.

  “She said she sort of has to go.”

  “What does Ethan think about that?”

  “Ethan?”

  “Yeah. He and Bella are—er, close, right?”

  He shrugged. “I guess so.” Okay, that was no help.

  Joe frowned. “What do you care?”

  “Who, me?” Roman gestured to his own chest. He got the distinct impression he was being interrogated. “I think of your sister strictly as a friend,” he lied.

  “I know this girl at school,” Joe said. “I want to ask her to homecoming . . .”

  “But . . . ?” Roman assessed him carefully. Was he asking him for advice? Or playing him?

  “But she thinks of me like her friend.” He made friend sound sort of like the plague.

  “Hey, friend is a great place to start,” Roman said, a little flattered that the kid was confiding in him. “Maybe she doesn’t know you’re interested in being more.”

  “Right,” Joe said, standing up. “Well, thanks for the sandwich. And the job.”

  “All righty, then. Thank your sister for the food. And good luck with your . . . friend.” The dog followed Roman to the door. As Roman reached down for one last pet, the dog licked his hand and gazed at him rapturously. A piece of steak, a friend for life.

  Joe, on the other hand, was more complicated. He rolled his eyes. Then he gave Roman a long, meaningful look, one that immediately told Roman the kid was warning him, not so
liciting advice. “Even I know it doesn’t work to be friends with girls. Not the ones you like, anyway.”

  Boy, wasn’t that the truth.

  CHAPTER 13

  “Why, it’s Arabella D’Angelo. Come in, come in.” A short, stout woman wiped her hands on a red-checkered apron, opened the hinged countertop that separated the cashier area from the dining area of Santoro’s restaurant, and hugged Bella. Patrons sat at the red-and-white-checkered tablecloth-covered tables, eating spaghetti and manicotti and pizza, the smells of sauce and warm dough filling the air.

  “Hi, Mrs. Santoro,” Bella said, hugging her back. “Nice to see you.”

  This Saturday date was a collaborative effort between the Santoros and her father, longtime friends, both families hailing a couple of generations ago from the same village in Italy. Dreams of a marriage to unite both families died early when Bella refused to date Bruno in high school, but now that he was divorced and back in town, and apparently her father was desperate to marry off his almost-thirty-year-old daughter.

  She could have said no, but her dad sold their restaurant a ton of vegetables and she didn’t want to upset them and lose their account.

  Besides, she was due to hear back about the Chicago job any time now, then she would be done with all these dates for good. Not that she didn’t appreciate the effort, but she knew the chances of a real relationship coming from them was as likely as her suddenly waking up one day blonde with blue eyes.

  “Bruno’s in the kitchen with his father,” Mrs. Santoro said. “We’re so happy to have him back to stay.” Sure enough, Bruno looked up from the window between the kitchen and the counter and smiled.

  “Hey, Bruno,” she said, waving. He looked—nice. Tall, with combed-back black hair and a somewhat prominent Italian nose, but it suited him. Plus he was wearing a crisp white apron as he prepared food, which was actually kind of sexy. She forcibly swept away the tendency to compare him to Roman, as she seemed to do unconsciously with every man she met. Not as tall, not as lean, not as muscular . . .