Nora's Guy Next Door

by Jo McNally

  “Let me fill in the blanks for you.” Her hands fluttered, and he realized she talked with her hands a lot.

  “I knew something was wrong when I saw you come home. You were so green you were almost glowing, Asher. But you told me you were fine and slammed the door before I could do anything. You were far from fine, but a stomach bug isn’t usually fatal, so I figured I’d check on you in the morning.”

  Her face grew serious. “And then I heard that god-awful crash. That’s when I remembered the key you showed me with the fish on it. I used it to let myself in and found you passed out on the floor next to the two barstools you’d knocked over. I almost dialed 911, but Dan came in right about then.”

  “Dan got me upstairs?”

  She nodded. “I hadn’t bothered to close the back door when I ran in and saw you. Once he realized I hadn’t assaulted you...” She winked playfully, and Asher’s heart did that weird thing again. “We managed to get you into bed. Then I sent him out to buy you some electrolytes. Between the fever and the dehydration, you were really out of it.”

  She shifted on the bed, moving closer to his legs, and for the first time he wondered what he was wearing under these sheets. He was definitely shirtless. Had she undressed him? Had she seen him undressed? Had he seen her undressed when she changed into his T-shirt? And why couldn’t he remember any of this?

  “Here, drink some more Pedialyte. You need to keep taking in fluids.” She leaned forward and reached for the bottle, causing the T-shirt to cling to her curves. He was pretty sure she wasn’t wearing a bra. Was it crazy to be jealous of his T-shirt? He took the bottle from her and emptied it, needing the distraction as much as he needed the liquid. When he was done, she took it from him and patted his hand as if he were a child. That was enough to annoy him and remove the weird attraction.

  “Look, I appreciate what you did, but I’m fine...” He sat up and moved to leave the bed, but two things stopped him—the fact that he was clearly only wearing his boxer briefs and the fact that the bedroom was revolving around him.

  “Oh, no, you don’t!” Nora laughed and put her hands on his shoulders. She didn’t have to work very hard to push him back against the pillows. “You are staying in bed today. You’re still a little green around the edges, and I’ve done all the cleanup I can handle, thank you very much.”

  He closed his eyes and groaned in embarrassment.

  “I’m sorry, Asher. I shouldn’t tease you about it. I’m sure Dan will do enough of that when you’re better.” Her smile faded. “You had me worried for a while. The fever had you totally out of it. You kept talking and talking, but a lot of it didn’t make sense.”

  Something shook in his stomach, and it had nothing to do with the food poisoning. He tried, and failed, to keep his voice steady.

  “Yeah? What did I talk about?”

  She looked at him with solemn golden eyes.

  “You talked about Dylan.”

  * * *

  NORA WATCHED AS Asher struggled to control the panic and anger that raced across his face. His eyes narrowed and he forced his words through a tightly clenched jaw.

  “I don’t ever talk about Dyl... I don’t talk about my son.”

  She looked down at her hands, folded tightly in her lap. Asher’s pain was a living, breathing thing in this room, and her heart broke from the weight of it. How did he get through his days, carrying this burden?

  “You talked about Dylan last night.”

  Asher shook his head vigorously in denial. “No. I couldn’t have.”

  “How else would I know about the son you lost?” What little color Asher had recovered drained from his face when she said the word lost, and she immediately regretted it. She rested her hand on his arm, but he pulled away and sat up, leaning against the headboard and closing his eyes as if that simple move had exhausted him.

  “What did I say?”

  “When I found you on the floor, you kept calling me Dylan, and saying you were sorry. When Dan came, I asked him who Dylan was.”

  Asher’s eyes snapped open. “Dan talked to you about my son?”

  He couldn’t even say the boy’s name. This couldn’t be healthy.

  “About Dylan? Yes, but only to say he was your youngest son, and that he died several years ago. He said it was your story to tell.” She shifted on the bed, pulling her feet in tight under her body. “But I was able to fill in a lot of the gaps as the night went on. You rambled on about how sick Dylan was, and how you hated that he suffered.” Her heart had broken when she found him sobbing on the bathroom floor, saying he wished he’d been the one who’d died. “You said the word chemo a few times. Dylan had cancer?”

  His mouth thinned in anger, and his only response was a single nod. His entire body was tight with tension.

  “You called him your little warrior. How old was he when...?”

  “I told you, I don’t talk about him. Ever.”

  “Asher, have you talked to anyone? A therapist? A pastor? A friend? You can’t hold this all in...”

  “The last thing I need right now is another greeting-card moment from you, Nora. Just go home and leave me the hell alone, okay?”

  He was hurting so much. She just wanted to hold him tight and make the pain stop.

  He ran a slightly trembling hand through his tousled hair, refusing to meet her eyes. His skin was still the color of flour paste. He didn’t need her stressing him any further. She noticed his obvious relief when she unfolded her legs and stood. He thought she was leaving as he’d asked her to. He didn’t know her very well.

  “Let’s compromise,” she said, holding up her hand to stop his protest. “You need more sleep and liquids and, eventually, food. Once you’ve accomplished all three of those things, I’ll leave. In the meantime, I’ll be downstairs finishing the cleanup.”

  “I’m a grown-ass man, and I can do my own cleaning. Please just go.”

  She pursed her lips as if considering it, then shrugged. “I think the jury is out on the grown-ass man thing, and you’re not well enough to be left alone yet. Unless you’d prefer I call Dan to come sit with you?” He hesitated, then shook his head again. “Okay, then. Get some sleep, and call out if you need anything.”

  She couldn’t help asking one more question before leaving him.

  “Do you and Michael talk about Dylan?”

  He glared at her in response.

  “That’s not good for either of you. You know that, right?”

  The glare intensified until she could almost see blue flames in his eyes.

  “Okay, okay. No more advice. I’m leaving.” She laughed when his expression brightened. “I’m leaving the room. I’m not leaving this apartment until you sleep, drink and eat. In that order.”

  It was four hours before she heard movement upstairs. His place had the same basic layout as hers downstairs, but instead of an open loft, his was a traditional two-story, with a full second floor. She heard the shower in his bathroom come on. That was a good sign. Not only was he strong enough to get into the shower, he was also healthy enough to want to shower and dress.

  She stirred the large pot of soup she’d made. It had required a couple of mad dashes to her place for ingredients, since his kitchen was definitely that of a bachelor, with lots of cereal boxes and frozen meals.

  She’d looked in on him every time she came back, to be sure he was still safely sleeping. She even allowed herself one last touch, resting her hand on his face to check for fever. He’d probably try to evict her as soon as he came downstairs, but at least he’d have some healthy homemade chicken soup to eat later.

  She wiped her suddenly sweating palms on the front of her jeans. She’d changed clothes on the first trip back to her place. She’d intended to bring his T-shirt back, but it was still hanging on the end of her bed. Would he notice if
she kept it? She shook her head. Why on earth would she keep his shirt? Just because it smelled like him and felt soft and oh, so comfortable? That would be silly. She’d bring it back later. If she remembered.

  The sight of him stepping off the staircase, shirtless, with the top button of his jeans unbuttoned so they hung low on his hips, made heat curl down her spine. His hair was still damp, his eyes dark and guarded. He pulled up short when he saw her, a shirt dangling from his hand.

  “I thought you’d left.”

  “I told you I wouldn’t. Not as long as you need me.” Emotion burned in his eyes, then dimmed. “I made you some soup for later, but right now, why don’t you have some water? How are you feeling?”

  His skin still had an ashen undertone. Shower or not, he wasn’t out of the woods yet.

  “I’m fine.” He rolled his shoulders, then stepped forward to take the water. “Thanks for...everything. But I can handle it from here.”

  “Nice try, neighbor, but I gave you the conditions that have to be met before I leave. Sleep, which you’ve done. Hydration, which you’re doing now.” She nodded as he drained the glass. “And I need to see you keep food down.”

  The corner of his mouth lifted. “As opposed to not keeping it down?”

  Her laughter bubbled up. “Yes, definitely. We’ve had enough of that.”

  He watched her refill his glass with more water. “I don’t embarrass easily, but knowing what you must have dealt with last night...”

  “We’ve both raised children, Asher. We’ve both seen our share of unpleasant body fluids.”

  His face reddened, but he nodded. “True.”

  She couldn’t resist one last try at getting him to open up. “You went through a lot more of that than I did, I suppose. With Dylan.”

  His jaw went so tight she could see the cords of muscle in his neck.

  “I don’t talk about that.”

  That. He was talking about his son, not a thing. Nora had a lecture on the tip of her tongue, but she held it in. He wouldn’t listen, anyway, and she wasn’t going to argue with him while he was still feeling ill. She needed a better plan. What he was doing wasn’t healthy emotionally. No wonder the man was angry all the time.

  “Okay. Is your stomach good enough to try some soup?”

  He tugged his shirt on and sat at the counter across from her. She decided that was a yes and put a single ladle of soup in a small bowl, sprinkling a handful of oyster crackers on top. Asher stared at it, obviously hesitant.

  “Don’t eat if you don’t think you’re ready. But remember—the sooner you eat, the sooner you get rid of me and my nosy questions.” She saw a hint of a smile before he took a spoonful of soup. He blew on it gently, then sipped just the broth through his lips. Nora was inappropriately fascinated with watching his mouth shaped like that. Like a kiss. She watched as he took a second sip and tentatively swallowed a few pieces of chicken and some noodles. He sat back and frowned.

  “That was a mistake.”

  “Not ready?”

  He shook his head and blew out a long breath. “I’m okay. But I definitely don’t want any more food right now.”

  “Try to get a few sips of the broth, at least.”

  “Nora, I don’t need a nurse. Or a mother.” His temper was back. “You don’t need to fix me. You must have something to do at home or in the café. Anywhere but here.” Despite all his protests, he slurped more of the broth. “I just need a little more sleep and I’ll be fine.” He gave her a firm look. “I need to be alone.”

  “Okay.” She nodded. “Why don’t you go lie down on the sofa, and I’ll clean up in here real quick.”

  He started to argue, but she turned away before he had a chance. She turned off the stove and found a container for the soup. Eventually she heard him settle onto the leather sofa in the very masculine living room. This whole apartment was a giant beige man cave, with lots of leather and wood, but very little color and no artwork on the walls. And one fiercely independent man who was now settling in to sleep in the middle of it all while she tidied up his kitchen.

  This was what Cathy might call a most unexpected detour.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  WHEN ASHER WOKE on his sofa, his first thought was that he was starving. That had to be a good sign. His second thought was that Nora Bradford looked damned fine sleeping over there in his chair, curled up under a blue-and-white football blanket Michael had given him. Her hair covered half her face, soft and loose the way he liked it. Her lips were barely parted as she breathed in and out.

  She’d been cleaning the kitchen when he came in here to lie down. Then she was going back to her place. Asher frowned. Did she actually say she was leaving, or was that just his wishful thinking? The sofa leather creaked beneath him as he sat up. It was enough to disturb Nora’s sleep, and he froze. Her face scrunched up, and she adjusted her position before settling back to sleep with a sigh.

  She made him smile. Even in her sleep, she had the surprising ability to make him smile. His feisty little Southern belle. Well, not his. Not really. Okay, not at all. Last night’s fever was muddling his thinking. Of course she wasn’t his. She was a nice neighbor who liked to fix everybody and everything. He opened his eyes and looked at her once more. She wanted to fix him—he’d seen it on her face this morning. But that was impossible. What was broken in him was broken for good. She’d only get hurt if she tried to change that.

  Very carefully, he got up from the sofa without making any more noise. Nora didn’t move as he tiptoed past her and headed toward the kitchen. His stomach was grumbling, and this time it wasn’t in protest of anything other than plain old hunger. He glanced at the time. Three o’clock in the afternoon. He’d slept the entire day away, never opening the shop. That was a first.

  He pulled Nora’s soup out of the fridge and dropped a couple of slices of bread into the toaster. He was hungry, but cautious, so he nibbled on the dry toast as the soup warmed. Just about the time he was ready to pour it into a bowl, he heard a sound behind him. Nora was sitting on one of the counter stools, still looking sleepy.

  “You’re feeling better.” It was a statement, not a question.

  He just nodded, oddly tongue-tied. She stood.

  “Well, that was the goal, so I can check off the last item on my list. I’ll give you your wish and leave you alone.”

  “You could join me...” She looked up at him in surprise. “For dinner. It’s your soup, after all.”

  She hesitated, and he wondered at the shadows he saw in her eyes. Had he spoken again in his sleep? Did he say something to upset her? Was she coming down with his stomach bug? But he was sure he’d had food poisoning. Why the hell did he care so much about what was bothering her?

  “No, thanks. A deal’s a deal. You wanted me to go, so I’ll go.” She gave him a smile. She really had to stop doing that smiling thing, because it was breaking down walls he thought would never crumble. “Take it easy tonight, and I bet you’ll be back to a hundred percent in the morning.”

  “Nora...”

  But she shook her head, stopping him.

  “I need to go, Asher. Call if you need me.”

  I need you.

  He didn’t say the words out loud, because they couldn’t possibly be true. Instead, he gave her what she seemed to want: a quick exit.

  “Okay. Goodbye, Nora. And thank you. Really.”

  She looked at him silently, as if trying to read his mind or see into his soul. Her brain was definitely busy with something. Then she nodded, and there was something just a bit sly about the smile she gave him before turning away.

  “Bye, Asher.”

  * * *

  TWO DAYS LATER, Nora was still lost in thoughts of what to do with the guy next door. The man clearly needed to deal with his youngest son’s death. She’d
heard it said that the first steps of the grieving process were anger and denial, and she suspected Asher had never gotten any further, frozen there for years now. She frowned as she swept the café floor. It was impossible to imagine the pain of losing a child. So how could she know how to help him?

  “Mom? You okay?”

  Becky was behind the counter, wiping it down after a big lunchtime crowd. The café was beginning to build a reputation for good coffee and good pastries. She’d love to find a local bakery, but Gallant Lake’s only bakery had closed over a year ago. Maybe she could ask Asher for a recommendation. But why would Asher know anything about bakeries? And why did he manage to work his way into her every thought?

  “Mom?”

  “Sorry, honey.” She chased him out of her head again. “I’m fine. Just a little tired.”

  “Why don’t you go upstairs? I can finish here.” Becky smiled, and Nora’s heart cracked a little at the hesitancy she saw there. Things had been so terribly, tensely polite between her and her daughter in the month since she’d moved here. Becky was still skeptical of her motives, and it felt as if she was judging Nora’s every word and action. No matter how careful she was, Nora still managed to say the wrong thing often enough to annoy her daughter. Some days it seemed like everything was the wrong thing. And Michael had carefully avoided her, wisely not wanting to be in the middle of whatever was going on between mother and daughter. Becky rubbed the soft swell of her belly, as if cuddling the child inside.

  “I think you should be the one resting, Rebecca.”

  And there went Becky’s eyes, rolling skyward in exasperation.

  “Seriously, Mom? I’m fine.” With that, she turned away and went into the kitchen.

  Nora watched her leave, wondering how they were ever going to break out of this strained relationship. Becky seemed to feel that everyone was against her and Michael, and she’d grown so prickly about it.

  “You need to talk to her, you know.”