When It Falls Apart (The D'Angelos, #1)(33)

“I like where I live and don’t want to mess that up.”

“Then don’t.”

A brief look his way, then back out the window.

He was staring at her.

“I won’t.”

“Good.”

A few seconds passed.

“Stop staring at me.”

He shifted but didn’t stop looking at her.

“If you’re as exhausted as your diatribe expressed, I can’t help but wonder just how stunning you’ll look after a few good night’s sleeps and a little pampering.”

She wanted to hate the image of decent sleep and a weekend at a spa without a care in the world but didn’t. What she did despise was how far-fetched the reality of such a thing was.

Brooke raised a hand to the home across the street. “This is my reality. I can’t even get my work done without the phone ringing and diverting my plans each and every damn day. Your pampering sleep-fest isn’t going to happen. I won’t look stunning anytime soon.”

“Isn’t there another family member or someone—”

“I’m it,” she cut him off . . . again. The anger started to fade again, and the gut-wrenching sadness started to settle in. “My father was married four times. He sucked at personal relationships. And hey,” she said in warning, “I’m not much better. Just off a breakup myself.”

Luca paused. “Marriage?”

“No. He . . . we didn’t believe in marriage.”

“How bad was the breakup?” Luca asked.

Why was he asking? “I moved to a different state,” she said as if that was explanation enough.

“How much of that was your dad?”

“It doesn’t matter, Luca. I’m not the girl you follow because she’s crying, because I’m a mess and seem to have made that a pastime. I’m not the girl you call beautiful or wonder what she’ll look like when she puts on something pretty, okay? I’m the messed-up tenant that lives upstairs in the space you didn’t want rented in the first place. And just leave it at that.”

He was quiet for a few seconds. “Damn. I do appreciate your honesty and warning.”

She felt like crying. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

Her stomach growled. And not a soft little rattle that said she needed a dainty something to ward off her hunger, but a noise that filled the car and suggested a half a side of beef might be in order.

“Ignore that.”

“I’m good at many things, but ignoring a growling stomach isn’t one of them,” he said. “When did you eat last?”

She looked at her watch. It was almost three in the afternoon. The leftover dinner from the night before sounded divine. “Thank you for dinner. I should have said that before now.”

Luca’s eyes opened in surprise. “You haven’t eaten since last night?”

Again, her hand indicated the home in front of them.

“You’re going to end up with an ulcer,” he warned her as he reached for the door. “There’s a sandwich shop in the strip mall. Do you have a preference?”

“You don’t have—”

“Brooke.”

The look in his eyes said not to argue. Truth was, she didn’t have any argument left in her. “I’m easy. Anything is fine.” She reached for her purse, but Luca was already out of the car and jogging across the parking lot.





CHAPTER ELEVEN


They ate and watched the home Brooke’s father was in.

Slowly, Luca noticed the fringes of nerves that Brooke seemed to have dangling from her fingertips start to fade. Food truly had a way of healing.

Luca took their quiet moments as an opportunity to digest all the tidbits of information she’d revealed, which left him with questions. Some he would dance around, and others he flat out asked.

“How long has your dad been in there?”

“Four days,” she answered between bites. “I moved him in the first night I stayed in my apartment.”

She’d looked tired that night, too, as he remembered it. He wasn’t sure he’d actually seen her wide awake.

“Where was he before?” He took a bite of his sandwich and waited for her answer.

“A nursing home recovering from surgery.” Brooke looked at her sandwich, then back out the window. “He had a stroke a couple of years ago. We managed to get him back to being independent.” She faked a laugh. “At least I thought we had.”

“We? Was that you and the ex?”

Brooke laughed for real this time. “Yeah . . . no. We as in the physical therapist, occupational therapist, speech therapist, rehab center. It was exhausting and took a long time. All Marshall did was bitch about me being gone.” She took a bite and shook her head. “I should have known then.”

“Known what?”

“That we wouldn’t last.” She kept shaking her head. “Anyway, I had to liquidate my dad’s business and try and put some money in his account. You don’t get married and divorced four times and have a whole heck of a lot later in life.”

“I can imagine.” One divorce and Luca had learned his lesson.

“After I nursed him to some kind of new normal, I finally returned home.”