Page 19 of All Her Broken Pieces

“So Mangia Bene, huh? Are you the head chef there?” Deflecting is her MO, so I’m not surprised by the sudden change of topic.

“I’m a sous chef along with Alyx and his sister Nyomi. You remember him from the other night, right?” She nods, and I continue. “His moms own the restaurant and are the head chefs.”

“Dre and Mina are Alyx’s moms?” she asks with a look of surprise on her face. “What a small world.”

“I’m surprised we haven’t met before.”

“I mostly do takeout after work. I don’t dine in a lot.” So she’s a workaholic. Makes sense. She’s probably poured herself into her career since she clearly views relationships as distractions. “But I’ve met Dre and Mina several times when I pick up my food. Dre is so sweet, and Mina is hilarious.”

“Please don’t say she’s told you the pickle story.” I groan, dropping my head into my hands.

“She hasn’t, but now I must hear it. Tell me, pup.”

“Oh no. No, no, no. I’m not telling you that story.” Fuck, I’ll never live it down if she hears it. “Anyway, you know what I do and know way too much about my place of employment, apparently. Tell me more about you and what you do.”

“It’s your turn to deflect, eh? I’ll bite. I’m the CFO for a supplement brand, and right now, I’m in the middle of a major acquisition.”

“So, numbers are literally your job?” Of course she loves numbers. It’s all making sense now. Everything in her life has a place. She craves order, structure, control. Totally left-brained, driven by logic and data.

Realizing she’s probably not going to give me any more details, I relent, and we eat in silence for several minutes. “How is it?” I ask, gesturing to the almost empty plate in front of her.

“Delicious,” she groans between mouthfuls. Seeing her satisfaction while eating my food does something to me. My cock twitches in my jeans as my eyes focus on the way her throat bobs as she swallows another bite. I’ve enjoyed cooking since my Nonna taught me, and I thrive on the sense of purpose it gives me. But there is something innately sexy about this woman enjoying my creation.

Her phone buzzes on the couch, and a look of concern falls over her face as she gets up. “Sorry, I need to take this.” She walks over to the kitchen, and I try not to listen to her conversation, but I hear bits and pieces as I finish my meal.

“You did?... What does that mean?... Can you spell that?... When do I need to… Oh, that’s soon… Okay… Yeah, I can make that work. I need to move some things around…”

When she hangs up, the silence in the room is deafening. “How much of that did you hear?” she asks with a tremble in her voice.

It takes a few strides to reach her and I pull her into my arms. I’m not sure what she was discussing on the call, but given the shift in her demeanor, it wasn’t good news. “I heard parts, but I promise to only remember the parts you want to share with me,” I assure her while kissing her hairline.

“Fuck.” I squeeze her tighter and stroke my hand up and down her spine. The tension in her muscles slowly relaxes as she blows out several deep breaths. “You have the worst timing. Or I do. Or my doctor does. Ugh, why did I say that? It’s like I can’t shut up around you.”

With my hand under her chin, I tilt her face so her eyes meet mine. “Maybe it’s good that I’m here. I’m not sure what’s happening, but I get the feeling you shouldn’t be alone right now.”

Bridget pulls away from me and starts frantically tapping at her phone, muttering curses under her breath. She’s rattled, and frustration mars her features. “Fuck, it’s Becka and Robert’s anniversary, and he’s surprising her with a trip, and my parents are on a Mediterranean cruise that week. Shit, and the acquisition. I have so much to do before then.”

“I can help,” I offer before I can think it through. She needs someone, and it’s a chance for me to prove that I can be what she needs. Maybe at the end of this, she’ll see how good I can be for her.

Her eyes flick up to mine, and the anger that sears me is feral like a hellcat about to unleash. Throwing my hands up between us, I try to calm her ire. “I’m happy to help. I’m not sure what’s going on, but it sounds like the people you normally lean on are occupied, and you might need someone. Tell me what’s going on.”

“Why would you do that? We fucked once, and you think you know me?” she spits out.

Hurt people hurt people.I repeat the mantra my mom ingrained in me. Something bad just happened to Bridget, and she’s taking her anger out on me.

“I’m not sure what that call was about, but I can tell that you received some upsetting news?—”

“Don’t do that. Don’t psychoanalyze me and act like you know me. You don’t know me or anything about me. I knew this was a mistake.” As she turns to leave the kitchen, I catch her hand, and she stands there for a few seconds frozen with her phone in one hand and her other captured in mine. “I can’t do this,” she says quietly. “You’re a complication I can’t afford.”

“It’s only complicated if we make it. Let me help you. Please.”

“You can’t help me. You don’t even know me. I barely know you. I’ll figure something out. I always do.”

My heart breaks at her words. How many people have let her down? How many times has she been hurt to the point where she won’t let anyone in? There’s something comforting in knowing that we have more in common than she realizes.

We stand there, half in her kitchen and half in her living room. I thread her fingers through mine and squeeze her hand a little tighter as she stands there with her back to me, refusing to let me in, refusing to let me see her.

“It was my doctor’s office,” she starts in a voice so small I almost don’t hear her. “I found out on Monday that there’s a cyst on one of my ovaries, and they ran some additional tests…” she trails off, and I let her sit in the silence, rubbing my thumb on the back of her hand to let her know that I’m still here. “It’s not cancer, but there’s a family history of the BRCA-2 gene, so they want to remove the cyst and my ovary since I have a thirty percent chance of developing ovarian cancer. I can’t even believe I’m telling you this.” She pauses, and my thumb continues moving in soothing circles. “Anyway, they want to do something called a… fuck, I wrote it down.”

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