Page 17 of Just Friends

He didn’t take the bait for an argument. “You eaten dinner?” he asked. They wandered out of the care facility still holding hands.

She shook her head. “I’m exhausted. I hurt all over, and I’m heading home to my lousy shower.”

Weasel stared at her for a beat. “Why is it lousy?” He leaned against her automobile.

“No water pressure,” she answered, digging into her purse for her keys. He watched her.

“Still need to eat. There’s an Italian restaurant down the street. Meet me there.”

She glanced over herself still in the rumpled, sweaty t-shirt and jeans from work, and sighed. “Not looking like this.” Then her stomach rumbled loudly in protest.

Weasel smirked. “I think it has overruled you.”

“Fine,” she laughed. “Sounds good.”

He opened her car door and closed it after her.

???

Weasel followed Rebecca down the street, parked, and made it to her car before she could get out. He opened the door for her. She smiled up at him, and even though her exhaustion was evident, she was still the most beautiful women he’d ever seen. The mystery with her only deepened. What had transpired with Kyle? Why did she hold her old man’s condition a secret? And why did she lie to him?

It was a small restaurant inside a tall, skinny old brick building that had once been a factory. Now it smelled of baking bread and cheese; there were high arched windows and candles on each table. The string lights were large white bulbs strung across the ceiling, adding to a romantic ambiance. The host seated them right away, and Weasel waited until after they placed their orders before he broached the topic. “So, that’s why you returned?”

She sipped her water and nodded. She’d refused any wine.

“That’s been, what, four years ago?”

“Almost five...Yeah, I came back to help take care of him. He was alone after mom and I moved. I’d just graduated culinary school when it happened. So, once he’s better, I’m leaving.”

Was she serious? He stared at her over his glass for a beat. Stanley Gilbert had a stroke that left him paralyzed on one side. Improvement wasn’t in Stanley’s future. “What’s the prognosis?”

“No news in a long time. Only to keep doing the physical therapy.” She drank. “I had a job lined up, a good one, at a prestigious restaurant in California,” she continued absently. “Training with a world-class chef.”

He nodded. “But you didn’t accept it.”

“Yeah, sorry. Where’d that come from?” she shook her head.

“No sorry needed. You’ve told no one.”

“Only you.” She snatched a slice of bread out the basket the waiter dropped off and devoured it like she hadn’t eaten in a while.

“They’d all help, the same way you support them.”

“I didn’t need to worry anyone else with it. When I first got here, I told Hannah that I was back for my dad’s health, but I never went into any detail. It’s lasted longer than I imagined.”

“There are some nice fancy restaurants in town now. If you wanted to do that.”

“I’ve thought about it, but I have a great schedule for helping my dad. Morgan is really understanding.”

The dinner plates arrived, and Rebecca looked happier than she had all afternoon.

“What was the book in your dad’s room?”

She swallowed her mouthful. “He likes me to read him thriller novels. That one is a detective story. He seems to like it.”

“Jeez, I have no clue why,” he replied and grinned. Her laughter was music to his ears. “You sure you don’t want a drink?”

“I’m so tired. It’d knock me out, and then you’d arrest me on a DUI.” She paused, “Oh, but you’re not a traffic cop.”

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