Hot and Bothered (Hot in the Kitchen) (15 page)

Women and motors are hard on the heart.
—Italian proverb Most online dates started with e-mails or IMs, but Jules couldn’t do that, not unless she wanted to have someone proofread all her messages for her. So she went straight to phone calls. If she was expecting an instant connection, then clearly she needed to calibrate her hopes. Over the years, she had become fairly adept at picking up cues in other people’s voices, so the disappointment of how the dates went surprised her.

The first one had ended when the guy got a call from not one, but two exes, then proceeded to ask her advice on their respective merits, complete with supporting documentation that he described as “boudoir shots.” The second went all the way through a pleasant, if bland, lunch until she asked why he kept bending down to scratch his foot. That’s when he showed her his nice, sparkly ankle bracelet. The flashing green light indicated he was still in monitoring range of the receiver in his apartment above the diner.

As she told Lili and Cara in her reports, if someone had filmed her disastrous dates, all her reaction shots would show gaping mouths and melting faces from variations of Munch’s
The Scream.

Now at Starbucks in Wicker Park, Jules’s third first date since she had opened for business, as her brother called it, stretched ominously before her. Bachelor Number Three—Aaron Roberts—had yet to arrive and every swoosh of the front door had her raising her eyes in a brew of anticipation and dread. She had picked him because he owned a rug company, which hinted at safe and secure. Yet her schizophrenic mind had also jumped to sheepskin hearthrugs and cozy evenings by the fire because apparently she wanted a side of romance with her boring entrée.

Pathetic.

The door opened, her head shot up, and
ding, ding, ding
, what have we got here?

Bachelor Number Three wasn’t half bad!

He wore pressed khakis, a button-down Oxford, and the air of someone at home in the corporate surroundings of Starbucks. The Michael Bublé soundtrack matched perfectly his smooth, non-threatening entrance. A quick scan, and he strode over, head ducked a little shyly, nice all-American smile spreading wider as he drew closer. His online dating avatar did not do him justice.

“Jules?” he said tentatively.

She nodded. “Wow, you’re…”
Shite, where was she going with this?
“… not an ogre.” Evan was on a
Shrek
kick right now, so ogres, both real and fictional, were uppermost in her mind.

He laughed, a comforting sound that she could imagine blanketing her safely while she stretched out lazily on that sheepskin hearthrug. “Neither are you. Good thing we got that out of the way. Could have been awkward.” He shot a frown at her empty table. “Think we have a problem, though.”

“We do?” she croaked.

“You don’t have a coffee and I’m not sure I can break bread with a woman who isn’t a coffee addict like myself.”

She let loose a nervous giggle that made her sound a touch manic. “Oh, I just haven’t ordered yet. Didn’t want to get too far ahead in the perk stakes.”

“I love that sexy accent of yours,” he murmured. “Let me get the drinks in and then you can tell me all about yourself in that posh voice.”

Hmm, complimentary without being too forward, and manners to boot. She told him her caffeine requirements and watched unashamedly as he walked away.

Nice ass, Mr. Roberts.

Well, it looked like third time was the charm. Every girl had to kiss a few frogs first to get to her prince. Unable to help herself, she stole another glance in his direction. Aaron shot her an unfroglike grin and she wiggled her toes in a little happy dance under the table.

“Oh my gawd, he’s so adorable!”

Jules’s attention switched to the entrance once more. A woman dressed in fluorescent lime workout gear so tight she could probably lose weight standing still gushed loudly as she held the door wide to let in a guy with a stroller. The cutie pie who was the object of Screecher’s adoration wore a miniature Cubs cap and a manipulative preen Jules instantly recognized. Her bonny baby boy.

And the guy with the stroller was none other than Tad. Oh, hell, what was
he
doing here? And with Evan, who she had left with Cara not fifteen minutes ago. He couldn’t possibly know about her date, not that it would matter if he did. Because they were just friends.

Anxious, she jumped out of her chair as they approached, registering on some deep, feminine level how the female door-opener’s blatant admiration had moved higher to Tad’s denim-clad ass. Jealousy snaked through Jules’s insides—and the irony in ogling her date’s ass was not lost on her.

“What’s wrong?” she asked Tad, who had bent down to pluck a begging Evan out of his stroller.

“Nothing. I’m getting coffee.”

“No, I mean, why do you have Evan?”

“Cara had an emergency meeting with a client, something about an exploding fondue station. The chance to have some one-on-one guy time with my best boy here was too much to resist.” Brows angled, Tad hugged Evan to his hip. “You don’t mind, do you? I’ve watched him a million times.”

“Of course not. I’m just surprised to see you.” She rubbed her little guy’s chest, making him giggle and lash out for her hair. Securely stashed on Tad’s hip, he looked so happy. In fact, together, they were right there on the corner of picture and perfect.

“Where’d the hat come from?”

Tad grinned, and her heart lifted with the curve of his lips.
Stupid heart.
“I saw it the other day at Wrigley Field. It’s time he started to learn about all aspects of his heritage. Italian, British, and baseball.”

She returned his smile, and an electric sizzle passed between them. They were both remembering his promise, made on the day of Evan’s birth, to teach her son everything he needed to know. A toasty ache blossomed in her chest at the notion Tad spared a thought for Evan while he was out and about on his day to day.

“So why are you here? You look…” His gaze fell to the floral sundress she wore and dipped all the way to the cute strappy sandals that revealed shimmering blue painted toes. A weird expression came over his face. “You’re on a date.”

Inappropriate guilt pinched her chest and she chased it away with an internal scold. Kissing her until her lady parts turned to jelly did not give Mr. No-Follow-Through any special privileges over her dating choices.

“Yes. He’s—”

“Right here,” Aaron said, setting the coffee down on the table. “Grande caramel macchiato for the lovely lady.”

Tad’s eyes flew wide and he paled beneath his dark olive skin at the sight of Aaron in all his emotionally available, preppy perfection.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Tad DeLuca,” Aaron said, eyes lighting up in surprise. “Haven’t seen you in what, ten years?” He divided a curious look between Tad and Jules. “You two know each other?”

“Uh huh.” Tad clamped his mouth shut and retained all his energy for sizing up Aaron.

This could
not
be happening. Of all the guys in all the world, the first decent one she had met was a friend of Tad’s? Though “friend” might be pushing it given how Tad was glowering at Aaron like he had borrowed his rare vinyl recording of the Beatles’
Revolver
and returned it with greasy smudge marks. Along with the DeLuca death stare, Tad seemed to grow a few inches in stature and inch closer to her. Anxiety spun out from her pores. Surely, he wasn’t going to pull that protective shit now?

Aaron appeared unfazed. “And who’s this little guy? You’re a father now, Tad?”

“This is Evan,” Jules cut in. Evan gave a gurgly grin at the mention of his name and shouted, “Mummy!” She had discussed with the girls how soon she should broach the subject of her kid. Cara had flattened her lips and recommended caution
(give them a chance to enjoy the show first before you whip out your mom credentials)
. Lili had told her that if the guy couldn’t handle that, then he was not worth the time.

In dread, her body clenched waiting for Aaron’s response. She hated herself for it.

“He’s a knockout. So you two…” Aaron looked at Jules and Tad, trying to figure out their connection. Good luck.

“Oh, no!” Jules said, much too vehemently if the sharp look on Tad’s face was any indication. Seeing that no one was focused on him, Evan chose that moment to grab at Tad’s hair with a chant of “Tad, Tad, Tad.” It didn’t help that it sounded like “Dad” to Jules’s frazzled brain—or that she liked far too much how that sounded.

Her heart pounded in her ears. “He’s…”

“The nanny,” Tad finished for her.

“The nanny?” Aaron both smirked
and
chuckled. “Thought you were a bartender. Saw you in some magazine at my dentist’s office about best cocktails in Chicago.” He raised an eyebrow at Jules, inviting her in to the conversation. “Tad and I took a few classes together at U of C. Guy was going places; we all expected great things.”

There was an awkward moment of silence as everyone settled into their new roles. Aaron cocked his head, considering. “You got into that bar fight the night we were all celebrating the end of exams and then you disappeared off the face of the planet. What happened, dude?”

Death and loss happened, and apparently a bar fight, which was the first Jules was hearing about it. Not a muscle moved in Tad’s face—was he thinking about what might have been if he’d finished his degree, gone on to become an engineer, fulfilled all that promise his family held for him? Or was he thinking about his parents?

“College wasn’t really my thing. So what are you up to these days?” Tad’s tone was neutral but Jules knew better. She could hear the strain in it. He tightened his grip on Evan, an oddly possessive and protective move over her boy that made her light-headed.

Aaron rocked back on his heels, a little smug, steadily losing the goodwill he’d built up with that entrance and smooth opening overture. “Running my dad’s rug company out in the western suburbs. Schaumburg.”

“And you can’t get a date out there?” Tad asked, still on edge. “Need to come to the city to steal our women?”

“Tad!” Jules gave him a gentle cuff on the bare forearm cradling her son, one of those playful,
Oh, don’t mind him, he’s just joking
taps that desperate peacemakers use to keep hostilities from escalating during pissing contests. But instead of smoothing over the awkwardness, the touch electrified her body in startling awareness of Tad’s towering virility. His arm was so much thicker than Aaron’s, and while she was sure Aaron’s forearms were adequately qualified to support her son and wrap Jules in safety, she doubted they could fulfill either of those functions quite as well as Tad’s. Why, oh, why did every man have to suffer by comparison to Bloody Tad DeLuca?

Annoyance and attraction duked it out in her chest, and she was rooting for the former to come out ahead. A million reasons to be hacked off at Tad bubbled below the surface. The jackass had kissed her in the name of protecting her. He had offered his body then whipped the rug from under her when he chickened out. Those gems, along with that knuckle-dragging
our women
jibe, should have dimmed her appreciation for his forearms. They really should have.

Aaron smirked again. No, he
smiled.
She needed to stop looking for faults, failing him for not being Tad. Aaron’s forearms were in no way scrawny and he clearly had a nice dental plan. So the knife-edge crease down the center of his khakis was troubling, but as long as he didn’t expect her to get too friendly with an ironing board, they’d be okay. He was a nice guy who had made himself vulnerable on an online dating site. That kind of effort should have sent Aaron soaring in her estimation.

It really should have.

“I’m long past the point where bar-hopping and drunken hook-ups are my thing,” Aaron said, making his case. “I’m well established in my career, have a nice house, and I’m ready to take the next step. Schaumburg’s a great place to raise a family.”

The dig at Tad was unmistakable. The college dropout who tended bar and used his mixology skills to mix things up with the ladies he served in more ways than one.

“Tad’s about to open his own wine bar around the corner,” Jules chirped up in her friend’s defense. “Everyone’s so proud of him.” She was proud of him.

Apparently it was the wrong thing to say. Tad’s face darkened so much she worried Evan might start crying any second, but then he flicked a switch in his brain. Toggled it to good-humored Tad and smiled, first at Evan as if he was trying it on for size, then at Aaron and Jules. In those flinty DeLuca blues, she saw him draw conclusions about what Jules was looking for in a man: a provider, a good bet, a guy who wears khakis. Aaron Roberts had filled out an exhaustive dating profile and announced to the world that he was ready for a commitment. And Jules couldn’t wait forever.

Tad might want to get all up in her business but he wouldn’t fight for anything real.

Heart crushed in disappointment, she hovered on a ledge, waiting for Tad to move on and let her get on with it. The date would be a struggle now with Tad’s ghostly presence imprinted on her messed-up psyche, but she would make the best of it as she always did.

So it was with barely contained surprise that she watched Tad lower his impressive male form to a seat, settle her son in his lap like he belonged there, and take a sip of the coffee that Aaron had so kindly purchased for her.

Well.