Can't Stop Loving You Page 10

  “Are you the person who just destroyed my wall?” she asked. In a very professional voice, she was proud to say. She was going to stay calm and not get mowed over by his sex appeal, thank you very much.

  He looked unfazed. As if he had to think about the question, he tapped a finger on his chin, letting his gaze rake slowly up her—from her red heels, her legs, the length of her red sheath dress, and her little black sweater—lingering on her boobs before he looked at her face. Which she was sure had just turned as bright as her dress. He was barely suppressing a chuckle. The nerve!

  She had to close her eyes to get a grip. He used to look at her with those smiley bedroom eyes, and she used to know exactly what he was thinking. It couldn’t be the same now, it just couldn’t. Please God, don’t let him kick my hormones into overdrive. Turn these chemical reactions off right now. She tried to imagine him with ear hairs. Or an unsightly wart. Or even a zit, but it was too late. Her body apparently didn’t care that being in sudden impending nuclear meltdown mode at the mere sight of him could only lead to disaster.

  Dammit, next door times two. How did she get to be so cursed?

  Lord have mercy. Roman came over to apologize for knocking through his next-door neighbor’s wall, but one look at her in that red dress made him forget his name and every other thought he’d ever had.

  Red heels. Great legs. That dress hugging all her curves—she always did have a spectacular rack—and red lipstick on those full lips to boot. Which were not smiling.

  Bella cleared her throat, and he snapped his eyeballs up quick.

  “About your rack. I mean wall. Wall!” Shit, what was he doing? Must be that a cadre of old ladies was staring at him, making him nervous, and one with a thick mane of jet-black hair was pushing up to the front of the group. She even shouldered past Bella.

  He reflexively raised up his hands in defense. “Um, you must be looking for my brother Lukas. He’s the famous one.”

  “Panagia mou! Look at you! Oh, those gorgeous eyes, that dimple!” She grabbed him by the cheek and squeezed kind of hard. “Yes, I see the Spikonos traits! That Greek blood running strong through your veins! So handsome!”

  He knew his brother sometimes had crazy fans, but he’d never had the experience himself. Maybe a girlfriend or two who hadn’t wanted to break up, but nothing like this. “Look, lady, I—”

  “I’m Greek! Just like you. And your brother. Oh, he and Samantha will be so pleased. And Stavros. To have an uncle! Oh, doxa to Theo—praise be to God.” The woman launched herself at him and hugged him tight. One look at Bella showed she was trying hard not to laugh. At least she didn’t look too upset about the wall.

  “Roman, meet Alethea Panagakos,” Bella said. “She works for your brother Lukas.”

  “I really just help out after school and do some light cooking and cleaning. But with the new baby coming, there will be so much more to do. Oh, Lukas has been waiting for you. I can’t wait to tell him I’ve seen you myself. My prayers have been answered. God brought you home so you can all be a family again.”

  “Actually, I just ran into—” Just then Bella decided to have mercy on him, turning around and gesturing for everyone to back away. “Ladies, let’s give him some space. I’m sure, Roman, you’ll want to come in and assess the—er—damage.”

  But all the ladies wanted to do was assess him. Except Bella, who ran off into the back rooms of the office, leaving him to fend for himself.

  “So you’re Lukas’s brother,” a white-haired woman said. “Sam, his wife, is my granddaughter. I’m Effie, by the way.”

  “Those Spikonos boys grew up like orphans,” Alethea said, which led the other ladies to exclaim and shake their heads solemnly. “So sad. The parents were alcoholics, and they all ended up in different homes.” She turned to Roman and patted him on the cheek. “But now is your chance to find one another again, paidi mou. Oh, coming tonight was the best thing I could have done!”

  Great. All the women introduced themselves, and Effie handed him a piece of dessert and coffee.

  “Why are you in town, Roman?” the woman named Gloria asked him.

  “I’ve inherited my grandparents’ orchard,” he said. “Next to D’Angelos’ Garden Center,” he added, giving a nod in Fran’s direction.

  “Then why are you banging around next door?” Fran asked.

  “I’m building a wine bar,” he said.

  “You’re going to start making wine at the orchard?” Fran asked. “That’s something different.”

  “Not wine. Brandy. I’m building a still on the property, and I thought it would be nice to have a place downtown for people to come and sample it. Or for sophisticated women like yourselves to enjoy a nice glass of brandy or wine after a long, hard session.”

  Just then Bella returned from the back, carrying a stand-up dustpan and a broom. Grateful for the diversion, he set down his cake and coffee and walked over to her, gently lifting the items from her hands.

  “Here, let me take these.” She looked surprised. Or maybe it was the fact that he’d touched her and felt a breathless zap of current buzzing between them that threw him immediately off his game.

  Just like twelve years ago. And he could swear by the way her cheeks flushed the same color as her dress that she felt it, too. He’d known her so well back then. Seemed like he could still read her pretty easily. But he wished he couldn’t.

  Had he learned nothing? She hadn’t felt the same about them back then. That had been a painful lesson to learn. She’d moved on, had become something, made herself a life. Why did he still seem to have a problem with letting her go? Why couldn’t he move on from knowing that he’d fallen for her a lot harder than she’d ever fallen for him?

  “I’m sorry about the mess,” he said. “I’ll patch it first thing in the morning. It’ll take a couple of days, but it should look fine when I’m done.” He busied himself with the cleanup. The walls were old, plaster, and he’d need to fix the lath, re-plaster, then prime and paint. Some work, but the end result would look good as new.

  After he’d swept up and carried the rubble out to the Dumpster in the back, he apologized for interrupting their—session, or whatever it was—but they made him sit and have another piece of cake. Which he didn’t mind doing at all.

  “When my wine bar opens, you ladies will have to be my special guests,” he said.

  “Wine bar?” Bella asked, her finely arched brows rising.

  “A place where people can sample great spirits, eat simple food like cheeses and flatbreads, and listen to some good music.”

  “Mirror Lake doesn’t have anything like that,” Gloria said. “Seems like a wonderful thing for young couples to do.”

  “Couples of any age, friends, tourists,” Roman said. “A place to chill out after a hard day’s work or just relax at the end of an evening.”

  He made the mistake of looking at Bella. Not that he cared what she thought about his life’s dream. She didn’t even know about the apple brandy that he’d created and aged and would showcase there, his means of bringing it to the world, starting right here in Mirror Lake.

  She was looking at him with a perplexed expression. Narrowing her eyes a little, as if she couldn’t quite figure him out. “When it’s looking better, I’ll give you all a tour,” he said. He threw his paper plate and cup into the trash. “I’d better get going and leave you to your group.”

  Effie looked at her watch. “Actually, Bella, we were wondering if you’d mind if we cut things a little short tonight? It’s two-dollar movie night at the Palace, and they’re doing a Nora Ephron double feature. When Harry Met Sally and then Sleepless in Seattle. Fran, you should come with us.” Then they all hugged Bella, told Roman how great it was to meet him, and left.

  Bella collapsed in a blue armchair and blew out a heavy sigh.

  “Do all your clients hug their therapist good-bye like that?”

  “Only in Mirror Lake. Either that or I’ve completely blurred the difference betwee
n therapist and friend, and this is more of a social hour than group therapy.”

  “Don’t underestimate yourself. They probably need someone to listen to their problems. Everyone does.” He stood and looked around the office. Her diplomas on the wall. The artwork. “You’ve done very well for yourself, Bella.”

  “Well, you, too. I mean, it sounds like you’re going to make the orchards into something wonderful. You always wanted to put your own spin on things.”

  “It’s going to take years for me to get the business to where I want it to be.”

  “I’m glad you got out of Mirror Lake to get the know-how you needed. I know it’s going to be a big success.”

  “It’s going to take a lot of work, and a couple of business partners I don’t have yet.” He set down his coffee cup. “Is it okay if I come by around eight tomorrow?”

  “That’s when I usually get here.”

  “Great. I’ll stop at the hardware store first. I’m sorry again about the wall.” But he really wasn’t. It had given him a chance to talk with her.

  “Roman, I don’t care about the wall.” She grabbed the coffeepot and started to take it to the back. Then she stopped and said, “I’m sorry about my dad. Once he gets over the shock of having you next door, I think he’ll calm down. I want you to know that whatever happened between us personally, I would never hold a grudge against your business. Hopefully over time—”

  “I know you don’t.” For a moment, their gazes locked. That same warm feeling as always pooled in his belly and spread outward, that mixing of wanting her combined with the bittersweet feeling of things left unsaid for way too long.

  How was she really doing? Why had she rejected him so forcefully, when sometimes he thought he saw something in her eyes, a hunger, a sadness . . . or was he just imagining it? Was there a man? What had really happened between her and Ethan? So many questions that he wanted answers to. He needed those answers. He opened his mouth to speak, to ask—

  “Well, it’s late and I—I still have some paperwork to do before I leave,” she said. She headed toward the door separating the waiting room from the back hallway.

  “Thanks for the dessert,” he called after her. Her hips sashayed softly as she walked through the door, raising an arm in a slight wave.

  That familiar old ache flared up again, spreading all over his chest and threatening to double him over. He was stricken by how much he was still attracted to her. He took a couple of deep breaths until the sensation passed, then watched her disappear through the door and close it behind her.

  As he turned to leave, he had the fleeting thought that it would be nowhere near as easy to break through the shield she’d built up around herself as it was through that stupid wall. And he suddenly wished he could.

  CHAPTER 8

  Twelve Years Earlier

  Bella forgot all about the little incident in the cabin around Christmastime.

  Her heart was too overflowing with joy. For the first time since her mother had passed, she was happy. Roman was everything to her.

  That secretive wink he would toss her from across the room or when he passed her in the hall at school never failed to make her knees go weak and her throat dry. He always seemed to catch her eye whenever she looked at him, and smile that charming, slightly mischievous smile that always made her feel that no matter what worries were on her mind, everything was going to be all right.

  He was handsome, funny, and kind, not to mention whip smart. They had a friendly competition going between them on who could score the highest on tests. Sometimes she won and sometimes he did, with the other trailing just points behind. But a talent for academics was only a small facet of the things they had in common. She wanted to spend every minute with him, but it was hard with working and housework and driving Joey around to playdates and indoor soccer and everything else she had to do. Plus, Roman logged in a lot of hours next door at his grandfather’s orchard.

  Bella’s dad had even relented for the first time, giving her permission to actually date Roman. It made her feel a little guilty, though, all the sneaking around they did to spend time together. Twice they’d gone back to the cabin. But usually they got together in his beat-up old car and once in his bedroom when his mom was away.

  Bella hated that. It seemed so—deceitful. She couldn’t wait until college next year when they would both have some independence. Not that that would be easy, either. If he got the basketball scholarship at UC Davis and she was in Chicago . . . well. She wasn’t even going to think about that for now.

  She simply couldn’t stay away from him. He got her in ways no one else ever had—he read her moods and understood when she was tired and just rubbed her feet. And he always made her laugh, no matter how angry or upset she was.

  Their chemistry was so intense, so magnetic, she never knew what overtook her when she was near him. She couldn’t seem to stop herself from kissing him. And they did kiss—for hours. And talk. About everything, from their feelings about politics and family to their hopes and dreams. He thought he might want to take over his grandparents’ orchard, but he had big plans: he wanted to go away to study how to make beer and wine, something far different from his grandfather’s more traditional plans.

  Bella wasn’t sure what she wanted to do, but she knew it would involve helping people in some way. Not in a physical way, because the sight of blood made her wretch, and she didn’t ever see herself saving anyone with her hands the way doctors did. Her plan was to just get herself to Loyola and figure it out from all the awesome options she would have there. If she could only get in.

  Everything was idyllic until one day in late January. She’d just put a cookie sheet of homemade meatballs into the oven when her father came in from outside. It was snowing pretty vigorously. He took his muddy boots off and went to the sink to pour himself a glass of water, stopping to kiss her on the cheek.

  “You look tired,” he said. “You’re doing too much.”

  “Pop, it’s okay,” she said, closing her AP American history textbook that she’d propped against a bag of flour. Which reminded her—Joey needed to bring cupcakes for his class’s Martin Luther King Jr. celebration tomorrow. She prayed there was a box of cake mix in the pantry. If not she was going back to the store to buy one. There was no way she was baking them from scratch this time.

  She did feel tired. But she had AP classes, and it was that cold, cloudy part of the winter where you get to feeling you’re never going to see anything green again. And she was tense, waiting for her college acceptances. Well, one in particular. The one.

  Then, the next day, something strange happened. One minute, she was listening to Ms. Hall discuss women’s suffrage and the next she was running to the bathroom puking into the toilet. Which had a nasty cigarette butt in it that she didn’t even have time to flush first.

  After the deed was done, Bella knelt beside the bowl, stunned and shaking a little, unrolling sheets of cheap, thin toilet paper to wipe her teary eyes. Kids were dropping like flies with the flu lately, coughing, nose running, head aching. She didn’t have any of that, but she had felt queasy lately, especially while she was cooking. Suddenly, a pounding on the stall door made her jump and pulled her out of her thoughts. She hurriedly stood, redid her ponytail, straightened her sweater, and opened it.

  There, staring at her, was Reagan. How long had she been in the bathroom? Had she heard her vomiting? Bella noticed her lipstick was shiny and fresh looking—overdone, if you asked her, but then, what about Reagan wasn’t?—so she’d probably been preening in the mirror for a while. “What is it?” Bella said, not snappily, but not super friendly either.

  “Ms. Hall sent me to check on you. You okay?” Her gaze traveled from Bella’s ankle boots, up her jeans, and over her long cabled sweater.

  Bella’s first impulse was to frown, but she stifled it. Maybe Reagan really was concerned. People could change, right? And, hey, Bella was in love. It was easy to think the best about everybody. Besides, she wa
s never one to hold grudges.

  “I’m fine, thanks,” Bella said. “You can go back to class now.” Something about the way Reagan was looking at her—with the subtlest little smirk that marred her otherwise pretty lips—put her on guard. She wanted a chance to rinse the sour taste out of her mouth, check herself in the mirror. If only Reagan would leave.

  “Okay, I’m going. Sure hope you’re not late.”

  “Oh, don’t worry. The bell’s not going to ring for another—”

  Bella didn’t really understand what Reagan had meant until the smirk spread into a full-blown smile. The kind the Grinch smiles when his heart is three times too small and he’s planning on wreaking havoc on the Whos.

  Oh God, she was late. But there had been so much stress lately, with school and exams and—and she wasn’t the most regular of people. Her cycle had always been erratic.

  Bella tried to push that thought out of her head, but like gum on the sole of a shoe, it wasn’t budging. As if to mock her, her stomach squeezed and another wave of nausea struck. She took a few deep breaths and refused to give in to it. This was all just because of those gross chicken nuggets she’d snagged from Jess’s plate at lunch because she was still starving after her peanut butter sandwich. It was a bad combination, that’s all. That was all.

  Suddenly, she couldn’t think. Spots danced in her vision, the kind you see when you’re going to pass out, and she was not going to end up helpless in front of someone who would probably leave her to die on the gross floor anyway. Bella walked quickly past Reagan, who was full-blown laughing now as she leaned against the pink tiled wall.

  Sometimes Bella had a certain sense of foreboding about events, one she laughingly called “The Shining” with her friends. She could swear she knew things, like when one of her friends was headed for a breakup, or a crush was going to languish in a state of unrequited love. Now, that same spiny tingle hit her out of the blue, this time with a sense of life-altering dread. She clutched her abdomen with both hands. Oh dear God, how could it be? Fate could not be so cruel. She’d gone to the doctor; she’d taken precautions. She’d made a choice that she thought she’d been smart about, but still, this had happened.