A Season of Angels (Angels Everywhere #1)(34)

“I . . . I was wondering the same thing myself. You won’t leave me alone either.”

Their sandwiches arrived and Chet tore into his as if he hadn’t eaten in a week. Monica glared at him and pointedly reached for her napkin and spread it evenly across her lap. Bowing her head, she murmured a simple prayer of thanksgiving. When she’d finished, she lifted half the sandwich from her plate, holding it daintily in both hands. Chet had started on the second half of his before she’d taken the first bite.

When he finished, Chet reached inside his pocket and brought out a small spiral pad. He flipped through several pages until he found what he was looking for.

“Your father’s name is Lloyd Fischer, the Reverend Lloyd Fischer. You’re an only child and your mother died when you were in your teens. Currently the church employs you as a full-time secretary. You play the piano on Sunday mornings and teach a Sunday school class. Your two best friends are married and live in another state. It’s said that you miss them dearly and write often.”

Monica was so shocked it took an effort for her to disguise her distress. “How . . . how do you know all that?”

Chet grinned suspiciously. “I have my ways. I’m a private investigator, remember? Don’t tell me you didn’t find out what you could about me.”

“I most certainly did not.” She snapped her mouth closed before she added to the lie. She had looked up his name in the business directory and noted the address. His office was close to the Westlake Mall on First Avenue in a dingy part of town. The mission was situated on the same street and she’d mentally calculated which building was his. She’d looked his name up in the white pages as well and learned that his apartment was in the same building.

“So,” he said, pushing the empty plate aside and reaching for his coffee. “Do you have any suggestions?”

“For what?” She wasn’t sure where he was leading, but she had no intention of continuing with this farce. Having lunch with him was about as far as she intended to go.

“Figuring out what’s going on between us,” he said loudly as if she were hard of hearing.

“Keep your voice down,” she pleaded.

“The thing is,” Chet continued, “I’m not sure I like you. You annoy the hell out of me and at the same time I can’t help thinking you could be a real woman if you’d let yourself go a little bit.”

Monica jerked her shoulders back and scowled at him. “You haven’t exactly endeared yourself to me either, Mr. Costello. You’re everything I don’t want in a man.”

Instead of insulting him, her words appeared to do just the opposite. He grinned as if she’d stroked his ego with compliments. “Ain’t it a bitch?”

Her head snapped back at the use of vulgarity. “Kindly watch your language.”

His grin was cocky in the extreme. “You want me so much you’re practically frothing at the mouth.”

Monica’s hands were shaking so badly she could barely open her purse zipper. She removed her wallet and carefully extracted a ten-dollar bill, which she set next to her plate.

“I don’t believe there’s anything more for us to say,” she said crisply.

Chet held up his hand. “Don’t be so hasty. We’ve got several matters to discuss.”

Monica slipped out of the booth and dramatically tossed her purse strap over her shoulder. “I won’t say it’s been a pleasure,” she said, taking her gloves from her coat pockets. “Good-bye, Mr. Costello.”

She heard him swear and winced at his words as she walked away. His hurried footsteps sounded behind her before she left the store and reached the sidewalk.

“All right, I apologize,” Chet murmured impatiently, “I shouldn’t have said that.”

The man was full of surprises. She certainly hadn’t counted on him making amends any more than she’d expected him to chase after her. Monica wasn’t sure how to react, or what she should do. She was more comfortable believing him to be a hopeless Neanderthal. His sincerity went against the assumptions she’d made about him.

“You want to go for a walk?” Chet asked before she had time to sort through her feelings. “It’ll be a test of our control to see how long we can go without finding something to argue about.”

“Where do you suggest we walk?” Monica asked, as if that were her only concern. She looked up at him and found his deep, blue eyes intently studying her.

“The waterfront’s as good a place as any. There’re always lots of things going on down there.”

“All right.” Her words were little more than wisps of sound. She hurriedly looked away because she found his gaze mesmerizing and buried her hands in her pockets. Chet followed suit, his own hands waist deep in the pockets of his beige coat.

“You seem to know a lot about me,” she said as a means of opening the conversation, “it only seems fair for you to tell me something about yourself.” She wasn’t sure, but this sounded like a good place for them to start. Her only concern was in knowing exactly what they were starting. She didn’t know if she could be friends with this man, and anything else was impossible.

“I’m thirty-three and have never been married,” Chet said, cutting into her thoughts.

“Why not?”