The Halo Effect (Cupid Chronicles) (8 page)

Tristan hurried and got to work. The quicker he got this stupid cake done, the quicker he’d be outta his hair. He cranked the oven on to preheat. He pulled out the cookbook, opened to the same page he was on before and set it on the counter next to Noble’s cereal bowl and box of Froot Loops.

Noble shoveled a bite into his mouth and ignored him.

He chanced a glance before opening a cabinet to search for a mixing bowl. Noble was still paying him no mind. Bingo. He got it out and started pouring in his ingredients.

Noble got up and dumped his milk in the sink.

Tristan waited until he’d shut off the water. “Can I borrow some eggs and butter?”

Noble shrugged. “Use whatever you need.” He grabbed a banana and sat back down. He peeled it and devoured it in four big bites.

“Does it say a half a stick of butter or a whole stick?” he asked as he stepped back to the fridge.

He pulled open the door and waited for Noble to answer.

Silence. He glanced back. Noble was studying the page, his eyes squinted in intense concentration. Finally, he looked up. “A half?” he answered, not sounding sure at all.

Tristan pulled out the butter, nagged by Noble’s expression. Something wasn’t right. Maybe he didn’t have his contacts in. He remembered how his dad was when he didn’t have his in or he’d forgotten his glasses.

Finally, he got the cake mixed and in the oven. Feeling particularly successful, he flipped in the cookbook and found a simple icing recipe.

He turned to Noble as he emptied the dishwasher.

“Hey, Noble?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you have to wear prescription glasses to drive your motorcycle? Does that suck?”

Noble eyed him strangely. “No, dude. Why?”

“Well, I just assumed . . . don’t you wear contacts or something?”

He slammed the dishwasher shut. “Nope. I’m 20/20 last I checked.”

“Oh. Cool.” He turned back to the cookbook with a frown.

“I’m gonna go catch a shower.”

“’Kay.”

“Oh.” Noble paused and faced him. “If I don’t see your mom anytime soon, would you please thank her for the pizza?” A half-smile tugged his lips up. “And the cookies.”

“Cookies?”

He spun away and left before answering. But he was back in time to watch Tristan pull out his very first homemade cake. All in all, it was a success. He hadn’t burned it. Hopefully it didn’t taste like ass.

He turned to Noble. “You care if I do some icing real quick?”

“Nah. What’s a cake without icing?”

He smiled. “I know, right?”

He flipped to the recipe and shoved the book into Noble’s hands. “Would you help me?”

He waited and watched as Noble sat there, obviously distressed. “I, uh . . .” he stammered, trying to hand the cookbook back.

“Just read me the ingredients real quick,” Tristan said, making a beeline for the counter and pulling out the sugar he knew was on the list.

Noble sat frozen, staring at the words on the page. “Sugar,” he said. “Um . . .” He glanced up and caught Tristan’s gaze. Then something changed in his eyes and he tossed down the book and stood. “I think you can handle it from here. I’ve gotta go get ready for work.”

Tristan watched as he bolted from the room.

Noble never came back as he iced the cake in silence. He cleaned up his mess, collected his stuff, and let himself out quietly. He must’ve pissed the guy off. Now he’d never help him and his mom with anything again.

He balanced the cake carefully and made his way back home. He only had about ten minutes to spare before his mom would be back from her detention detail. He quickly put everything away and placed the cake in the middle of the kitchen table.

He sat on the couch to wait. Fifteen minutes later she walked in, hobbling a bit on her sore ankle.

“Hey, sweetie.”

“Hey, Mom.” He played it cool.

“How was your day?” He could tell she was trying not to act hurt that he’d forgotten her birthday.

“Pretty good.”

She bent over and brushed a kiss to his forehead. Out of tradition, he turned away. She stood and made her way to the kitchen. He quickly got up to follow her and waited in the doorway.

She gave a small gasp of surprise when she noticed the cake on the table. She flew around and met his eyes.

“Happy Birthday, Mom.”

She grinned and threw her arms around his neck. “You remembered!”

He stepped away. Enough of the soppy stuff. She kissed his cheek anyway. “Yeah, well, you made it hard to forget by leaving that cookbook opened to the cake recipe on the table. Very subtle, Mom.”

She furrowed her brows. “Huh? I didn’t do that.”

“You didn’t?”

“No. But I’m happy anyway.” She turned for the fridge. “I need a drink.”

“Oh . . .” he held out a hand to stop her.

“What?” She knew the score. They’d had too much bad stuff happen in the house already.

“The fridge is broken.”

“Oh, no!” She yanked it open anyway then looked like she wanted to cry. “Great. How much is
this
gonna cost me?” She slammed it shut with a dull thud.

“Sorry.” He offered a smile to soften the blow.

“It’s not your fault.”

Happy Birthday
. “The oven, too.” He sure hoped that cake was good.

She glanced at the oven. “You’re serious?”

“As a heart attack.”

She walked over and picked up the broken knob. “Well, double damn.” She shot him a curious glance. “Then how’d you manage a cake?”

He grinned.
Cuz I’m da bomb.
“Noble let me do it at his house.”

His mom’s shoulders tensed up at the mention of the neighbor’s name. “Really?”

“Yeah. He says to thank you for the pizza and cookies.”

She grinned. “Really?”

“Yeah. And you know what else, Mom? Something’s up with him.”

She caught and held his gaze. “What do you mean, son?”

He swallowed. He could hardly believe what he was about to say if he hadn’t witnessed it himself. “Mom, I don’t think Noble can read.”

Chapter 11

Noble wadded up the paper and threw his grandfather’s most recent letter away. He’d studied the stupid thing for half an hour puzzling the words out and he still thought the old man was nuts. He wasn’t sure why he was opening the letters now anyway. He should’ve ignored it. But after the last one . . .

He scoffed at the idea of forgiveness. What was that?

And did he get the words right . . . Angels in his dreams? What a bunch of horseshit.

He paced to the window and cracked the blinds. Sweet Cheeks and her boy weren’t home from school yet. He wondered if that cake had turned out any good and if she’d had a nice birthday.

He also couldn’t help but wonder what kind of shitty hand that poor kid had been dealt. He could see it in his eyes, clear as if he were staring into a mirror.

Well, at least the kid had a mom who loved him. Someone who gave half a shit where he was and what he was doing. If he lived or died. Who didn’t drink themselves into oblivion and kill every dream in his young heart.

“Fuck this.” He swiped his keys from the bar and decided it was as good a time as any for a little two-wheeled therapy.

Braelyn could hardly concentrate at work all day thinking about what Tristan had said over the weekend. McHottie Neighbor couldn’t read? No way.

“Miss Campbell?” Jeremy touched her arm.

“Yes?” She glanced down, regretting her distraction.

“I have Oreos in my lunch today,” he proclaimed proudly, his chest puffed up like a peacock.

She smiled and steered him to his seat for their lesson. “You don’t say?”

He nodded. “You want one?”

She tilted her head. He’d never offered to share before. “Well, maybe. That’s very nice of you, Jeremy.”

With Brittany’s help, she got everyone back on task and the learning commenced. But her wayward thoughts kept drifting. She had managed to clean out the refrigerator, but was going to need someone to look at it. Great. Another expensive repair guy to rip her off. She hadn’t done a thing with the oven. She’d sucked up her tears, no use crying over spilled milk, and she and Tristan had gone out for her birthday dinner. But making due with a microwave and pantry food wasn’t going to last long. She was gonna have to get on it soon.

With a sigh, she wondered if buying a run-down fixer-upper had been such a great idea. But she’d been trying to give Tristan a real home. Not a tiny apartment or a cookie-cutter house in a sterile subdivision somewhere. She wanted something homey, something with character where they could really put down roots. Even if everything was going wrong, she still loved that darn house.

She just hoped it didn’t put her in the
poor house
.

And it didn’t hurt that there was some eye candy next door. And now, she thought with a little internal, girly sigh, she knew where his bedroom was. One night she’d had her window open when she couldn’t sleep. She’d sat up to watch when his big truck rumbled by as he came home at an ungodly hour in the morning. His light had flipped on, he’d walked by, outlined in shadow behind the blinds, pulling off his shirt, then it went dark.
Sigh.

She would’ve assumed their houses had the same floor plan, but no. They were mirror images of each other. So, if their houses were pressed up against each other, their bedroom windows would kiss.

Okay, enough
. She went back to her lesson plans. Bad thoughts. Bad, bad, inappropriate thoughts. About a very hot, supposedly illiterate man who wanted nothing to do with her. She should keep her mind to herself.

But, for reasons she couldn’t fathom, she was drawn to him. And, he’d done so much for her and Tristan. More than she had a right to ask. More than was strictly neighborly or chivalrous.

She looked up, startled, when she realized she was already contemplating asking him for help again with her fridge and oven.
Shame, shame, know your name!

Braelyn hobbled out to her car after school, hoping the ibuprofen she’d taken would kick in soon and ease the aching in her ankle. Thankfully, it wasn’t swollen anymore, but after all day on her feet, it was sure sore.

Her cell phone rang from the depths of her purse. She opened the door and sank into the seat before checking the caller ID. Tristan. Her heart sank. He’d be calling from school. What now?

“Yes, baby. What’s wrong?”

He’d been doing so much better lately. Michael had been a Godsend. She’d only gotten one call from the school in the past couple of weeks and it had been about a bad grade on a quiz and a missing assignment. No more calls about his behavior. She’d been hoping this streak would last. Damn.

Women’s voices milled in the background and papers shuffled. He must be in the office. “Nothing’s wrong. I was wondering if I could stay after school for automotive club then ride home with Nate and hang out at his house for a while? I’ll be home by nine.”

“Nate?” She tried to place the name. Tristan hadn’t made many friends since they’d moved to Texas and he’d seldom asked to go do anything. This was a good sign. Her hope began to rise again.

“Yeah. Nate Matthews. He’s in my Chemistry class. You met him once. His mom’s a nurse.” His tone was impatient. People must be close-by.

She still had to be Mom. “I’m assuming you’ll have all your homework taken care of?”

He sighed. “Yes.”

“And dinner?”

“I’ll eat at his house. His mom’s cool with it.”

She put the key in the ignition and started the car. Thankfully it gave her no issues and it hadn’t since that fateful day when it died in front of Noble’s house.

“Mom?” Tristan brought her back to the issue at hand.

Man, she hated to go home to an empty house and eat alone. But he needed this more. “Okay. Fine. Do I need to pick you up?”

“No, they just live a few streets over. I can walk.”

There was no reason for her to think Julian had found them, or had any intention of making good on his threats all the way in Texas, but her mother’s heart couldn’t be sure. Not yet. “You can go, but I’ll be picking you up. You call me when you’re ready to come home. Where does he live?”

He heaved a dramatic teenage sigh and rattled off the address then hung up before she could tell him she loved him.

She tossed the phone into the seat and headed for home. She got home, no worries. Her car behaved like the perfect lady. She unlocked her front door and was greeted by perfectly cool air when she strolled inside. Ah, her air conditioner was also on its best behavior. Things were looking up. She moved on to the bedroom to change, then to the bathroom, where all the plumbing was in proper order.

She smiled at herself in the mirror as she picked up her brush. She tilted her head, letting the bathroom lights catch the hints of red in her natural auburn hair, and wondered if she should go get some highlights when she got paid. If this good fortune kept up, maybe she wouldn’t have any new expenses on the house for a while.

She frowned as the thought of dinner occurred to her. Well, shit on a shingle. Not only did she have to eat tonight, she had to figure out something on those appliances. Guess the hairdressers could wait ‘til next month.

She made her way to the kitchen and poked around. Nothing to eat except some leftover birthday cake, ramen noodles, and tuna fish with some not-so-fresh bread. Nothing too appetizing.

She peeked out the window. The big, black, übersexy truck was there. He’d probably come help her if she asked. But did she want to? She’d moved away to protect Tristan and to prove her independence. She and Tristan didn’t need a man. Men were nothing more than complications. Pigs, really. Albatrosses around your neck, if you let them.

She sat at the kitchen table and tucked her hands under her thighs so she wouldn’t be tempted to move. Instead, she stared out the window with longing. He could very well be a pig—an albatross—like the rest of ‘em. But darn if she didn’t wanna run over there!

She squeezed her eyes shut and pulled Rory and Julian into focus. The men who’d ripped her and Tristan’s hearts out, trampled them, spit on them, and walked away. Okay, maybe that was overkill, but it really just depended upon her day. But, generally speaking, Rory was the lowest form of scum that clung to a leech’s belly in a filthy pond and always would be. Period. Any man who wrote off his son at the whim of a woman could kiss Braelyn’s ass and take his child support check with him.

Now, Julian, his status shifted from pond scum leech to sociopath to narcissistic douchebag if she was feeling particularly generous. He was a doctor back home—an anesthesiologist no less,
oooh la la
. A mutual friend had introduced them. Even his name was sexy and exotic. Dr. Julian Diaz-Esteban. He’d seemed perfect. Charming. Good looking. Intelligent. He had money. He’d been great with Tristan, even though he was another man’s child. He had that super hot Antonio Banderas accent. Braelyn was sure they were heading somewhere serious. Until she found out he was helping himself to the goods he administered to his patients then accused her of turning him in and threatened her baby in retaliation. Yeah. No
bueno
.

She opened her eyes and caught sight of the big truck that always drew her gaze like a beacon of sexiness.

Men are pigs, men are pigs, men are pigs.

Her mantra wasn’t working. In her heart of hearts, she knew it wasn’t true. Not every time about every man. Especially not
that
man. She stood.

Call her crazy, but she was going in.

Braelyn rang Noble’s doorbell and stood up straight. For one, she knew she was already a shrimp compared to him. And second, she was wearing her good pushup bra, so she wanted what little assets she had to be noticeable. She may not have much, but darn it, she wanted them to look pretty.

He answered, his hair wet and loose, the strains of some smooth, classic rock floating out from behind him.

She opened her mouth to speak, but she couldn’t think.
Jjjjj-Jiminy Cricket!
A white cotton T-shirt hugged his chest, worn-in jeans hung loosely from his hips. His feet were bare. Her mouth watered.

He didn’t move. His black eyes simply studied her. He could be thinking anything and she would never know, they were so deep and endless. He shifted his weight fractionally as the song ended and another kicked on. “What a Fool Believes”
by The Doobie Brothers. She smiled.

His right brow winged up. “Something funny?”

“No. I just like your taste in music.”

Now both of his brows dipped down as he frowned. Moody man. He propped a hand against the doorframe. “You here for a reason?”

She took a step back as if he’d slapped her. Whoa. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you.” She glanced down at the sidewalk. He’d bought a doormat since she’d dropped off those cookies. “I guess you’d be getting ready for work about now, huh?” She backed up a few more steps. “Forget I came by.” She spun around and stepped off the sidewalk into the grass.

“Wait!” he called.

She kept walking. Her mantra was right. Men
are
pigs.

“Wait,” he said again. His long strides had caught up to her and his warm hand grabbed her arm. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to sound like a dick.”

She stopped and turned around. His big frame actually cast a shadow over her on the grass. She peered up into his face. His dark eyes were apologetic. “Okay. Your dickheadedness is forgotten.”

She found she wanted to nibble the ghost of a smile that skirted his lips.

He released her arm but didn’t step away from her. He tucked his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “So, is everything okay with you and Tristan? Did you need something?”

Damn it! Her heart did some kind of crazy flip-flop at the way he asked after Tristan. She hesitated.

He tilted his head. “Obviously you didn’t come over just to say hi. What’s up?”

She sighed. She’d have to find a way to pay him back. “No, I didn’t. I’m so sorry. I hate to impose on you. You’ve done so much for us already.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and met his eyes. He waited patiently for her to continue. “I was wondering, whenever you have time, that is, if you’d mind terribly taking a look at my fridge and oven. Tristan said he had to bake my birthday cake at your house.” She glanced down. “This is so embarrassing.”

He didn’t say anything. She chanced a look back up. “Unless you’re too busy. Then I’d totally understand. In fact, never mind. I should never have asked. Forget it. You’ve gotta go to work.” She started to back away. “I’ll just call a repair guy. Sorry to have bothered you, Noble.”

She was nearly to her front porch when his words stopped her. “I’m off tonight. I’ll be over.”

She spun around, her heart knocking in her chest. “Really? You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

He was still standing where she’d left him in the grass. “I’ll be over. Maybe Tristan can help me? The kid needs to learn some stuff around the house if he’s gonna help his mom.”

She smiled softly. “Tristan’s not home tonight. He’s with a friend.”

His posture shifted slightly and his lips curled into a tiny frown. Why? Surely a big man like him wasn’t afraid to be alone with little ol’ her?