“Try me.” Rumors and gossip were already circulating after his father moved out of the family home. “A few more juicy tidbits will add a pinch of spice.”
Mother and son gazed at each other for an extended moment. His mother broke their visual connection.
“Very well,” she snapped. “You make your own bed and lie in it. Just don’t come running to me when the bed leg breaks.” She swiveled and marched two doors down to the second café in Clare—the one she and her pals frequented.
Nolan noted the interest from passersby and huffed out a sigh. It was his mother’s fault he’d gained notoriety in the first place. She’d sent off his application to the damn reality show.
He dodged a group of women who were pawing through a rack of clothes outside a ladies wear shop. A sale, the sign said. He hastened his pace. The glow in their eyes, their fervor served as a warning to any male with common sense.
Clear of danger, his mind headed back to his immediate problem. Yvonne.
He hadn’t expected her to act with such hostility. He’d thought she’d understood he wasn’t interested in the women on the reality show. Damn, the female sex was confusing.
Tonight he’d explain everything, tell her he wanted her, tell her he didn’t need any other woman, tell her the two of them were in a relationship.
Together, they had a future.
Yvonne picked up her sons from the babysitter and drove down the busy streets to her small rented home, not far from Clare school. The recent reality show had put the town on the map, as had the news the show’s producer intended to film again in the town.
A white compact cut in front of her and slowed rapidly.
She slammed on the brakes, her seatbelt stopping her from flying into the windshield. “Idiot!”
“Mummy called the man a mean name,” David said from the rear seat.
Yvonne turned to check on David, her four-year-old, and Michael, her six-year-old. “Okay?”
“Can we have a puppy?” Michael asked, his earnest gray-blue eyes a mirror image of her own. His curly black hair, pale skin and slim build came from his father.
David took after her with light brown hair and an olive complexion. “Oh, yes.” His brown eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. “We’d like a puppy.”
“I don’t think so. A puppy would get lonely while you’re at school and kindergarten. They don’t allow dogs,” she said, forestalling their next logical argument. Her sons were the only good thing to come from her marriage.
The driver behind her honked his horn, and Yvonne muttered under her breath. While the surge of visitors helped local retailers, today the strangers and their aggressive driving were working her last nerve.
At home, she started dinner preparations and organized bath time, put on a load of washing and directed the boys to do a little tidying. She pushed thoughts of aching feet into the far recesses of her mind. Once the pasta was cooked, she poured over her meat sauce. It was full of disguised vegetables in the form of grated carrots and zucchini and diced tomatoes, so she was glad to see the boys eat with enthusiasm. One less battle to wage.
An hour later, with the boys in bed, she poured herself a glass of wine and collapsed on the sofa. She wriggled her toes. Sheer bliss. Then the doorbell rang. Yvonne groaned and pushed herself to her feet.
A few seconds later, she yanked the door open, her scowl deepening when she identified her caller. “What are you doing here?”
“I told you I was going to stop by.”
Yvonne stood firm in the doorway. “I don’t suppose you’d go away?”
“No.”
Yvonne let out a heavy sigh and limped down the passage. She took a right into the lounge and lectured herself sternly.Don’t touch. Keep your hands to yourself. He’ll hurt you again. Her trepidation sailed close to panic. Why had he come when she’d told him so clearly to stay the heck away?
She hesitated, glanced at the couch. No. No sitting. She didn’t want him to get comfortable. She picked up her glass of wine and took a swig. The chair called to her throbbing feet. She ignored her aches and pains, the siren lure of comfort.
“Are you going to offer me a drink?”
“I don’t have any beer. I used the beer you left in my fridge to make bread.” Satisfaction tinged her words, the petty act still giving her pleasure.
His eyes glittered with amusement, and her hands curled to fists. The man stood on boggy ground. She was in the perfect mood to commit physical violence.
“Is there more wine?”
