Daddy, Unexpectedly. Lee Mckenzie

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      “Yeah, but it’s a movie, remember? That means I get to be anybody I want. What about you?” he asked, wanting to steer the conversation in a different direction.

      “Well, since you get to be Pierce Brosnan—or would that be Daniel Craig?—then I guess I’d be Julia Roberts.” She was blushing again. “But more Mona Lisa Smile than Pretty Woman,” she added quickly.

      His turn to laugh. “Good to know, but I was talking about the real-life you. You said you work at home.”

      “I do, some of the time, but nothing movie-star glamorous I’m afraid. I’m a Realtor, and a partner in a business called Ready Set Sold.”

      He never would have imagined her as a salesperson. Then again she’d be good at anything she decided to do. “Good name for a real estate company.”

      “We thought so. We’re more than just real estate, though. We help people renovate and stage their homes before we put them on the market.”

      “Good idea. How many business partners do you have?” he asked, hoping she wouldn’t say her ex was one of them.

      “Two. Samantha Elliott is our carpenter and general handywoman, and Kristi Callahan is an interior decorator. They both do really amazing work, but they’re more than business partners. They’re my two best friends.”

      Huh. Three women, best friends, running a business together. He liked the sound of that. “What about Donald? Is he in real estate?” Not that it was any of his business, and he probably shouldn’t even bring him up, but something about the guy didn’t sit right with him.

      Claire plucked a napkin from the dispenser and wiped the table in front of her. “No. He’s an investment broker. He did really well at it, which is how we could afford the condo. Things between us started to fall apart right around the time the economy took a downturn, and then I found out he was...”

      Luke had a pretty good idea what she was going to say, and he let her get to it without prompting.

      “And then I found out he was having an affair.”

      Bastard. Women like Claire, and his mother, deserved better. His own track record was less than stellar but except for Sherri, he had never been in a relationship long enough to be unfaithful. Even with her, although he’d been tempted a time or two, he’d kept his pants zipped. He might be a chip off the old block in a lot of ways, but his father’s infidelity had been the thing he hated most about the man. No way, not even when he’d been drinking heavily, as he had been in those days, would he let himself sink that low.

      “Is that when Donald moved out?”

      “He didn’t have a choice. After I found out, I packed up his stuff and called a moving company.”

      He felt himself grin. “Hot damn, you’re feisty.”

      He had always liked that Claire was a smart, determined woman. To know she wouldn’t put up with any crap from anyone made him admire her even more. Why hadn’t his mother kicked his father’s ass out of the house a long time ago? Why didn’t she do it now?

      Claire swirled the straw in her drink. “A lot of men might think that what I did was a bit over-the-top.”

      “Only the ones who are cheating.”

      “You mentioned something about a breakup. Were you the heartbreaker or the heartbroken?”

      He should have seen this question coming since he’d been the one to bring up exes. “A little of both, I guess. I didn’t cheat on her, though.”

      “Did she? Cheat on you, I mean.”

      “No. At least not that I know of. We were seriously into partying and then...ah...something happened that made me realize I had a problem. I knew I needed to quit drinking, and it turned out I wasn’t much fun to be with when I was sober.”

      “She actually said that?”

      “Not in so many words. And I learned some stuff, too.”

      “Such as...?”

      “Being sober and living with a drunk isn’t much fun, either.”

      “Oh, Luke. I’m sorry. Do you know how she’s doing now?”

      “No. We sort of lost touch.” Which wasn’t entirely true. He did know how she was doing. Not good. He didn’t want to talk about Sherri or the real reason they’d split up. He never talked about stuff like this with anyone, ever. Why was he opening up with Claire?

      A food runner arrived with their order. “The O’Chicken?”

      Claire patted the table in front of her, eyes widening as she took in the amount of food on her plate. The kid set the second plate in front of Luke and sidled away as the server appeared. She balanced a tray of drinks on one arm as she pulled a bottle of ketchup from her apron pocket and set it on the table.

      “Anything else?” she asked.

      He and Claire both shook their heads, and she carried on.

      For a few moments there was silence as Luke applied a generous squirt of ketchup to his burger and squeezed another zigzag across his fries. He offered the bottle to Claire but she shook her head. He picked up the top half of his bun—lettuce, tomato, pickle and all—slapped it onto the burger side, and flattened it with his palm. While he watched Claire, he picked it up and took a bite.

      She started by rescuing the pickle slice and moving it to the edge of her plate before going to work on the rest of her meal. By the time she’d unwrapped her cutlery, spread the paper napkin on her lap and, with surgical precision, cut her burger in half, he had devoured half of his.

      “How is it?” he asked.

      “Mmm.” She murmured her approval as she swallowed.

      “Help yourself to some fries.”

      She reached across the table, picked one up and dipped it in his ketchup. After biting it in half, she closed her eyes and chewed. “So good,” she said when she opened them again. “I haven’t had one of these in ages.”

      “Why not?”

      “I’ve been on a diet.” She picked up her fork and stabbed a piece of lettuce.

      She looked fine to him. Better than fine. She had curves in all the right places, but if he told her that, she’d probably think he was lying, or coming on to her. He’d been around enough women to know that when they ordered diet drinks instead of regular, salad instead of fries and generally worried about their weight, the smart thing to say was nothing.

      So instead he picked up his burger and bit off almost more than he could chew.

      * * *

      A CRISP FRENCH FRY AND tangy sweet ketchup were like a perfect marriage, Claire thought. What she didn’t know about the latter was made up for by a deep and abiding love of food, the crisper, sweeter and greasier the better. And she had the size fourteen hips to show for it.

      “What СКАЧАТЬ