that Eddie had known much.
“So cop a seat and I’ll cook for you,” Sean said, nodding to the table in the center of the room. “All I got are eggs and bacon, but the good thing is that’s hard to screw up.”
“Sounds perfect.”
He went to where the frying pan had always been kept and what do you know, the thing was still there. “Scrambled okay?”
“Fine.”
As he got the bacon going and grabbed the eggs out of the fridge, he kept his tone casual. “So you knew my old man well, huh?”
“He was very kind to me.”
I’ll bet. “You lived here two years, you said?”
“Since I got out of nursing school. I wasn’t around much as I work at a clinic in Roxbury and I moonlight at BMC a lot, but we spent some time together.” A sad smile lifted her mouth. “Your father always said I worked too hard.”
Did he? What a prince. “And you took care of this place, too, didn’t you? I mean, it’s pretty obvious. He never was into housekeeping when I knew him.”
“Well, at first he wouldn’t let me. But after a while, he needed help.” She cleared her throat. “When was the last time you saw him? If you don’t mind my asking.”
“A while. He told you not to call me until it was over, right?”
As she stayed quiet, he cracked eggs into a bowl and started to beat them with a fork. The choppy, liquid sound cut through her silence.
He looked over his shoulder. “Didn’t he?”
“Yes. It felt wrong not to, but I respected his wishes.”
When her green eyes lifted to his, he stopped dead.
Check out that stare, he thought. So compassionate. So…kind.
As he looked at her face, something popped in his chest, like a lid being released. And what came out of his inner soda can was a yearning that unsettled him. He literally wanted to dive right into those warm eyes of hers.
“I think the bacon is burning,” she said.
He cursed and got back with the program. As he transferred the strips onto a paper towel–covered plate, he asked, “So where are you from?”
“The north shore. Essex. My mother is still up there.” Lizzie laughed a little. “I was hoping to introduce your father to her. Maybe they could have been friends. But your father liked to keep to himself.”
Or maybe keep Lizzie to himself? “You got a husband or a boyfriend there, Lizzie?”
As she blushed again, he became absorbed in the pink tint on her face. To the point that when she dipped her head, he found himself leaning to the side so he could keep measuring her cheeks.
Man, the women he knew in Manhattan did not blush and he realized he liked it. Or hell, maybe he just liked this particular woman turning red.
“Lizzie? Was my question too personal?”
“Not at all. I don’t have a husband. Or boyfriend. Too busy.”
Good, he thought. Then frowned.
Wait a minute. Not good. Doesn’t matter. None of his business.
Besides, maybe she’d been saving herself for his father. God, what a cringer that was.
“What about you?” she asked. “Are you married?”
“Nope. Not my thing.”
“Why not?”
Well, there were a whole bunch of why nots. The first of which was prenups could be broken and he had no intention of someone in stilettos walking off with his hard-earned cash. More than that, though, you had to trust your wife wouldn’t play you. And he’d long ago lost the illusion that faith in lovers or business associates could be justified.
Hell, maybe he’d never had it. His two brothers were really the only people on the planet he believed in.
“No particular reason,” he said, dumping the eggs into the pan. As a hiss rose up from the hot iron, he tacked on, “Other than I’m a loner.”
She smiled. “Like your father.”
He whipped his head around. “I am nothing like my father.”
As she recoiled, he didn’t apologize. Some things needed to be stated clearly and he was not like that abusive, drunken bastard on any level.
“You like a lot of pepper in your eggs?” he said to fill up the silence.
Chapter Three
Sean O’Banyon might be a little touchy about his father, but he made a very good breakfast, Lizzie thought, as she put her fork on her clean plate and eased back in the chair.
Wiping her mouth on a paper towel, she glanced across the table. Sean was still eating, but then again he had twice the food she’d taken to get through. And he was slow and meticulous with his meal, which surprised her. He seemed like the kind of tough guy who wouldn’t bother with good table manners. But his were beautiful.
And…boy, yeah, the way he ate wasn’t the only beautiful thing about him. That chest of his was sinfully good to look at. So were his thick eyelashes. And his mouth—
Lizzie cursed in her head. What was her problem? The man asks her in for breakfast right after his father dies and she’s checking him out as if he were an eHarmony candidate?
Then again, it was probably biology talking. After all, when had she last been alone with a man? As she counted up the months, then hit the one-year, then two-year mark, she winced.
Two and a half years ago? How had that happened?
“What’s wrong?” Sean asked, obviously catching her expression.
Yeah, like she was going to parade her Death Valley dating life in front of him? “Oh, nothing.”
“So what was I about to ask you? Oh…your mother. You said she’s still up in Essex?”
“Ah, yes, she is. She’s an artist and she loves living by the sea. She keeps busy painting and sketching and trying out just about every kind of creative endeavor you can think of.”
To keep her eyes off him, Lizzie folded her paper napkin into a precise square—and thought about her mother’s origami period. That year, the Christmas tree had been covered with pointy-headed swans and razor-edged stars. Most of them had been off-kilter, mere approximations of what they were supposed to be, but her mother had adored them, and because of that, Lizzie had loved them, as well.
For no particular reason, she said, “My mother is what they used to call fey. Lovely and…”
“All in her head?”
“Precisely.”
“So you take care of her, huh? She relies on you for the practical stuff.”
As Lizzie flushed, she murmured, “Either you’re very perceptive, or I’m quite transparent.”
“Little bit of both, I think.”
As he smiled, her heart tripped and fell into her gut. Oh…God, he was handsome.
“How long are you in town?” she blurted. And then couldn’t believe she’d asked. It wasn’t that the question was forward on the surface, but more because she was angling to see him again in a situation just like this. The two of them alone.
Can you say desperate, she thought.
“I’m going back to the city tomorrow—well, that’s today, isn’t it?” He wiped his mouth and took a drink from his glass of orange juice. “But I’ll be back. I’ve got to clean out this place.”