Chapter Two
If you want to find out the worth of a man, put a woman in front of him.
—Italian proverb
Starting out on the back foot was so not how she wanted this conversation to go down. No one said a word as the air, already shimmering with tension, was sucked into the vortex of Jack’s disapproval.
“Is someone going to explain what needs to be broken to me gently?” Her brother threaded his arms across his chest in one of those I’m-not-budging moves.
Jules tried to match him with her best unimpressed shrug. “I’m going to start dating.”
Jack’s green-gold eyes, the one physical feature they had both inherited from their late mother, narrowed to slits. “And you thought I wouldn’t handle it well?” He looked over her shoulder to add Lili and Cara to the cozy circle of glaring. “You all thought that?”
Jules imagined she could hear the heavy, creaking nods of the girls behind her and she nodded herself, feeling curiously hopeful.
“Well, you were right,” her brother barked. “Is this why you moved out? So you could bring dates back to your flat?”
So he was still pissed about that. Jack’s reaction when she’d told him she was moving out was the perfect example of why she had wanted to keep this dating idea to herself for a while. He worried about her constantly. He was crazy as a loon about Evan. But she needed to stand on her own two feet.
“I moved out so I could have some privacy but I won’t be bringing any dates back.” There was no way she would do anything like that with Evan around and that Jack thought so hacked her off royally. Irritation dogging her every step, she skirted him and marched back to the bar. In her wake, she heard Jack’s heavy tread followed by the lighter footfalls of the girls.
She scooped Evan from Tad’s arms and held him close.
“Jules, are you all right?” Tad’s brow furrowed like a corduroy swatch as he gauged her dark mood.
“Juliet Kilroy, wait just a second.” Jack. Still, Jack. Her brother scrubbed his fingers through his hair, a gesture he made when he was annoyed as hell. Considering some of the stunts she had pulled, it was a wonder he had any hair left. “Where are you going to meet people? Are you going to be hanging out in bars? Are you going to be picking up men in bars?” This was said like it rhymed with “dirty old prozzie.”
Fury stifled any effort to speak, not that Jack seemed to expect a response. He was too busy answering his own questions in his head.
He turned to Lili. “Help me out here, sweetheart.”
“Oh, you’re doing just fine by yourself,” she said with an eyebrow lift that would have made Jules laugh if her heart wasn’t thundering so hard against her rib cage. There was a time when she’d had no compunction about picking up a guy in a pub and letting him buy her a few drinks. She hadn’t thought so highly of herself then. Telling herself she was using them just as much as they were using her was the mantra of tough, broken girls everywhere.
Serenity, bloody well, now. “I was thinking of doing it more systematically. Online dating.”
“You’re going to start dating?” Shane gave her a crooked smile of solidarity. “Good on ya, Jules.”
She thanked him with her eyes before letting them wander to Tad.
Who opened his mouth to say something, but like some kooky ventriloquist’s trick out came the voice of Jack instead.
“Don’t encourage her,” he sniped at Shane.
Okay, it was time to bring out the big guns. “Jack, you’re happy. Shane’s happy. You’re all so happy.” She whipped her gaze by Tad, who was happy as long as there were untapped sources of women in the Chicagoland metro area. “I want to meet a nice guy. Find that something that everyone I know already has.” She held her brother’s gaze and aimed for the jugular. “Is that so wrong?”
“No, of course not,” he said with a mix of exasperation and what sounded like guilt. It might be a low blow, but she could always rely on Jack’s nagging doubts about whether she was content to get the job done.
“I want you to be happy. We all do,” he went on. “I’m just not seeing how you can decide to date. Typically that’s not how these things work. Usually, love hits you when you least expect it.”
“Literally,” said Lili, as a nod to how she and Jack had met, when her frying pan connected with his big, arrogant head. She rubbed her husband’s arm soothingly. “It worked out for us, Jack, but it doesn’t have to be left to chance. Or the possibility of a concussion.”
Jules could feel Tad’s heated gaze on her cheeks, but when she met those sharp DeLuca blues, his face lifted in a grin.
“Practicing?” he mouthed, and she repressed her natural impulse to roll her eyes. So she had dug for her inner flirt with the repair guy and it had worked. Well, when that part came in, she would know it worked.
Jack was still muttering his discontent. “We need to talk about this some more. I only agreed to let you move out because you would be living in the flat I own across from Shane and he could watch out for you.”
Let her move out? A growling sound came from deep in Jules’s throat. Deeper than that, even. From her gut where a bitter-tasting pool of frustration simmered.
“Jack, this isn’t your decision to make. I’d appreciate your support but with or without your blessing, I will be dating.”
Her brother looked like he’d sucked down an entire lemon tree. She didn’t care. Improving the forward momentum of her life demanded that she do something—anything—to get out of her rut. She had no talents, no skills, no special gifts. All she had was her family, her bonny baby boy, and a need to be loved burning a hole in her chest.
The determination in her voice seemed to catch everyone by surprise, but she couldn’t be sure about Tad who had yet to offer an opinion aloud. His arms were crossed—those sexy, tanned, hairy forearms—over his broad chest. The one she had laid her head against countless evenings as he talked her through another hormonal meltdown.
When she caught his eye again, he wore his patented amused, sardonic expression. That about confirmed it. They were good friends.
Just as it should be.
* * *
Tad unlocked the front door to his parents’ house and pushed inside. His parents’ house. Almost ten years gone and he still thought of his home that way. It would always be Vivi and Rafe DeLuca’s home—and he would always be the trespasser. On cue, his phone buzzed and this time he answered because he could no longer put off the dreaded conversation with his sister Gina.
“Hey, G, how’s Flo-Rida?”
“Still filled with hot young Cubans and wrinkly old geezers.”
She had moved to sunnier climes with her husband David last year when he got a job as a manager at the Ritz in Miami, and despite the fact she was annoying as hell, he missed her.
“We have to talk about the house. I know it’s tough but we need the money—and so do you.”
Now he remembered that he didn’t miss her so much after all. She had inherited half the house after Mom and Dad died, and he couldn’t afford to buy her out, so that was that. She wouldn’t force him to sell, but it didn’t stop her from nagging about it on every call.
There were days he agreed with her, usually around the time of the anniversary when his memories and his guilt threatened to drown him. But he was learning how to cope—a few days away and several hangovers later, he would come out the other side, determined that this next year would be better. Giving up the house, the last connection he had to them, smacked of failure.
A splash of paint, some modern furniture to replace the heavy, oak pieces his mother had inherited from her mother—he’d had those put in storage before Gina got her knickers in a knot—and a judicious pruning of the family photos, and it had become bearable. He wasn’t trying to excise his parents from his life, just make the place less of a ghost town. He could rent it out and live elsewhere, but honestly, it was convenient to live here. Vivi’s was a short walk, as was O’Casey’s Tap, his local. He was just a few blocks from Jack and Lili, close to Cara and Shane, and within touching distance of Jules.
The house felt stuffy so he opened the back door to let some air in, sighing at the sight of the run-down yard. Weeds sprung up between the patio tiles, fighting to escape the piss-colored lawn grass that was clearly on life support. Each year, he threatened to bring his mother’s overgrown herb garden to life and each spring passed with no result.
“When the bar takes off, I’ll be able to get a mortgage to cover your half. Just a few months.” Of course, the bar might not take off. The reviews might be bad. He might not be able to find a decent chef or ever serve food. Jack’s investment had to be settled before Tad could even consider taking his share.
His sister hummed in his ear. “We want to have a baby soon and we could really do with the cash. David doesn’t earn that much money and it’s not cheap to live here.”
Maybe she should quit going out every night and acting like she was still a wine cooler-swilling teenager. Marriage was supposed to calm her down but his sister had always been a par-tay girl.
Feeing hungry and knowing there was nothing in the fridge, he wrenched open cupboard doors, but too late remembered why the cabinet closest to the fridge was off-limits. With a bitter swallow, he shut the door on the bottle of Bordeaux he had forgotten was sequestered there. His father’s last gift.
Gina sighed into the silence. “Have you ever thought that maybe it would be… you know… healthier to move out?”
He paused to give the question the consideration she felt it deserved, all the while knowing the answer would be the same. “Just give me some time, okay?”
They chit-chatted about this and that, and he hung up with a promise to visit her in the coming months (unlikely) and to keep her posted on when that mortgage would be happening (no time soon).
The crappy food situation had him phoning in an order for an Italian salad and a slice. He’d been eating too much pasta at DeLuca’s Ristorante, his uncle Tony’s place, which made the gym workouts more punishing than they had to be. Next time he hit the treadmill, he was going to have to turn the dial up a notch. Maybe the workout endorphins would help cushion the blow of Jules’s sure-as-shit dating announcement.
So she wanted to date. Well, it was no skin off his nose.
Why then did he have an urge to pick up a chair and throw it through the plate glass window of his brand new wine cellar? She was his friend and he was supposed to be happy for her.
Because there were weirdos out there, psychopaths trawling online looking for unsuspecting women who were tired of the bar scene. Maybe if she was putting herself on one of those Christian dating sites, there was a chance the guy might have more than murder or getting in her knickers on his mind. Though even that prospect was dim, because a woman like Jules would tempt the Pope to forget his vows. Either way, her heart would be open for any guy to come in and bat it around the outfield for a while before bringing his dick home.
For once in his life, Tad found himself on the same side of the divide with Jack as far as Jules was concerned. If she met someone in the natural course of things, that was one thing, but this online dating seemed so dangerous. The men answering her ad or whatever they called it would pick up on how defenseless she was.
Jules gave off a scent of vulnerability and such goddamn sweetness that every creep out there would be able to smell it through their laptops. They’d be queuing up in droves to get their hands on that gorgeous honey pie.
She needed his protection. After all, what were friends for?
He picked up the phone and dialed. It took her a few rings, usually because Evan had her hair in a stranglehold.
“Hiya,” she answered breathlessly.
“Hey,” he said, a little breathless himself though he had no excuse. Gotta get to the gym. “Did I catch you in the middle of something?”
“Just finishing up bath time for the demon formerly known as Evan. I think he’s feeling a bit strange because the flat is new. He’s the one who has an early bedtime, but I’m the one who’s worn out.”
“Nothing a glass of wine won’t sort out,” he said.
“Oh, so tell me, master sommelier, which works better on a devil child—a nice Cab or a fruity Pinot Gris?”
“The Cab, but if you give it to Evan, it’s considered child abuse so be sure to drink it all yourself. Afterward, all his antics will take on a nice rosy hue.”
He could hear her smile. “So, what’s up?”
You’re about to start f*cking dating, that’s what’s up. “How come you didn’t tell me about the dating thing?”
There was enough of a hesitation for him to doubt the truth of what came out of her mouth. “It was spur of the moment. I was just running it by the girls when Jack overheard and got his boxers in a twist. Why? Do I need to get your okay?”
Yes. “You don’t want me to be your wingman?” he asked, all light and airy, hating with the heat of a thousand suns that things had changed between them in the last year.
She harrumphed. “You’d scare any decent guy off with all your macho posturing. Whenever we used to go for a drink or dancing, no one came near me because the Tad force field of f*ck off was always locked in place.”
So she’d noticed. “It was for your protection. As long as you were with me, they thought you were mine.” Mine.
The word hung between them, weighty and full. He covered the receiver to mask his hard swallow.
“Is this really why you called? To nose around in my nonexistent love life like my brother?”
And nonexistent it would stay. “Actually, I’m calling to find out what you’re doing tomorrow around lunch time.” Far too soon for her to have found a date, he was sure of it.
“I was going to go to the gym. Frankie offered to look after his highness for a couple of hours.” She sounded a little uncomfortable, and he suspected it was because she felt she had baby weight to lose. He thought she looked more than fine but that was the kind of argument a man can’t win, especially when that man should not be appreciating the fine figure of his friend.
“Skip it.”
“What?”
“Skip it and come into the bar. You said you wanted to learn more about wine and I need to practice my spiel.” Weak, but whatever.
“Playbook getting overused, is it? Need to craft some new chat up lines?”
“My wine spiel, wiseass.” He licked his lips, feeling unaccountably nervous. If she couldn’t make it, she couldn’t make it. No big deal.
He heard her hesitation. “I can’t drink much. I’m such a lightweight these days.”
“You won’t get tipsy. We’ll treat it like a professional tasting and I’ll let you spit.”
She laughed, warm and husky. The sound stroked his spine. “Bloody hell, I hope your spiel is better than that. Okay, it’s a date.”