She nodded because it was easier than admitting she couldn’t sleep. She closed her eyes and tried to think about nothing at all. That seemed safest.
But she found herself remembering his story about his first wife. How Caro had betrayed him. There was no excuse for what she’d done. Pia couldn’t imagine lying to the one person you were supposed to love more than anyone. Not like that. If she hadn’t wanted to have children, she should have told him and gone on the Pill or something.
But the most difficult part of what he’d told her had been the realization that he’d loved Caro. The truth had been in the way he’d spoken about her, in the emotion in his eyes. He’d met her, dated her, fallen in love with her and proposed. Just like it was supposed to be.
She wasn’t going to get that. She wasn’t going to have the kind of love Hawk and Nicole shared, or that Denise had had with her late husband. There might be respect and a growing affection, there might be a shared goal of raising the twins and perhaps having more children, but there wasn’t a heart-pounding, hair-raising, oh-my-God kind of falling in love.
The knowledge hurt more than she would have expected. It made her want to curl up and give in to tears. Some for what she’d lost, but also for the realization of how much she’d wanted that in her life. She’d wanted her happy ending.
With Raoul.
She sat up straight and opened her eyes. After checking to make sure he wasn’t in the room, she turned the thought over in her mind. With Raoul? As in… What? She was falling for him?
A dangerous place to go, she told herself. It was insane to fall for a guy who’d made it clear he didn’t want his heart to get involved.
She reminded herself she’d always been practical. This was completely the wrong time to be thinking with her heart.
“MY HANDS STILL SMELL FUNNY,” Peter said with a laugh, holding one up for her to inspect. “And I washed ’em like five times.”
“Garlic’s tricky that way,” Pia told him, enjoying having the boy to talk to. It was difficult to stay depressed in the presence of a happy ten-year-old.
“Raoul said a bad word when he dropped the spaghetti in the boiling water,” Peter said in a whisper. “It was funny.”
“I’m sure it was.”
Despite her misgivings about moving in with Raoul, practicality and her fear of stairs had won. He’d packed up her stuff and carried her down two flights of stairs—a testament to his workout commitment. Now she was settled in his guest room.
He’d called Peter’s foster parents and asked if the boy could join them for dinner. Pia appreciated having someone else there that first night. It made her feel less weird about being in Raoul’s house.
He appeared in the doorway, a dish towel over his shoulder. “I drain the meat before putting in the sauce, right?”
“Yes. But don’t put the grease down the drain.”
“Cooking is complicated.”
She laughed. “I told you not to start with making spaghetti. You could have heated up one of the casseroles. That would have been easier.”
“But I love a good challenge.”
“Typical man.”
He chuckled and left.
Peter sat down next to her on the sofa. “Raoul said you were sick and you have to be careful.” He held out his arm which now sported a green cast. “Is it like my arm?”
“A little like that. You still have to be careful about not getting it wet, right?”
“Uh-huh.”
“But it will get better.”
“Like you?” Peter asked, leaning against her.
She put her arm around him. “Like me,” she said, and hoped she was telling the truth.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
LIZ STRETCHED OUT ON THE other sofa in Raoul’s living room. “Seriously,” she said. “You have to be bored.”
“I’m getting there,” Pia admitted. This was day four and her last day of resting. “I keep thinking about everything that has to be done and how behind I’m going to be.”
Liz winced. “Yes, well, about that. Montana organized a work party.”
Pia straightened. “Do not tell me she let people into my office.”
“Okay, I won’t.”
“Are you kidding? They were touching my files?”
Liz laughed. “It’s not like they were feeling up your underwear drawer. It’s just files.”
Pia groaned. “They’re my files. I have a system. What if they messed it up?”
“What if they were just trying to help because they care about you?”
“Helping is nice,” Pia said. “But not if it makes more work for me.”
“Someone needs her attitude adjusted. You should be grateful we all care about you. This town takes care of its own.”
Pia narrowed her gaze. “You weren’t so happy with all the meddling when you first moved back to town. If I remember correctly, you wanted to leave and never come back.”
“That was different.”
“Why?”
“It was happening to me.”
Pia relaxed back on the sofa and laughed. “Typical. We’re all so self-absorbed.”
“Speak for yourself.” Liz’s humor faded. “How are you doing?”