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“Sorry, you’re right. This whole situation has me feeling really uptight. Not to mention that I haven’t really been myself lately.”
“Take a few deep breaths and just focus on calming down,” he told her.
“So, now you’re a life coach?” she asked, then instantly regretted it.
But Bowie apparently took no offense. “I can be if you need one,” he offered. He sounded so genuine that she regretted being so flippant.
“What I need is a drink to help me unwind.” She saw him opening his mouth and beat him to the punch before he could say it. “I know, I know. The baby. I know I can’t have one.”
She looked so despondent, he wanted to do something for her. And then he thought of something. “Got any cans of chicken soup around?”
Of all the things she might have expected him to say, that was not one of them. “Why?” she asked. What did he want with soup?
“It’s comfort food,” he told her. “It shouldn’t really bother your stomach and it might just help settle it.”
“Guess we’ll never know. I don’t have any cans of chicken soup in the pantry.” She saw him taking out his phone. Had he changed his mind about Wallace taking over bodyguard duty? “Who are you calling?”
Bowie held up his hand to stop her flow of words because someone had picked up on the other end of the line. “Yes, this is Bowie Robertson. Let me speak to Lucia, please.”
“Lucia? You’re calling the owner of the restaurant we were just in?” she asked, surprised.
“You want something, always start at the top,” he told her.
Before she could say anything, he was talking to someone on the other end of the line again. It took her a second to realize that he was ordering food to be delivered to the condo.
“I’m fine,” he said to the person on the other end. “Yes, I was there earlier tonight. We were discussing your wonderful meals and the lady I was with had a sudden craving for some of your wonderful chicken soup. Would you mind having someone come by and deliver? Oh, about five servings should do it. Wonderful. Here’s the address.” And then Bowie rattled off the address to the condo for the owner of the café.
Marlowe listened to him, in awe of the way he could make people jump through hoops and still not resent him for it.
She was beginning to understand how he had managed to come as far as he had. And how he might just be the man she’d never known she’d needed in her life.
Chapter 18
Marlowe sat across from Bowie at her dining room table, looking at the overly large container that had just been delivered. There was still steam rising from the soup, and oddly enough, the aroma that rose up to greet her was very tempting. Food hadn’t smelled good to her for a very long time now.
She raised her eyes to Bowie. “Am I supposed to eat this or swim in it?” she asked.
“That’s up to you. Whatever you feel like doing,” he told her. “But personally I think that eating it might be the better way to go. Where are your soup bowls?” he asked, looking around the small, exceptionally neat kitchen.
“In the cabinet above the counter,” she answered. She still couldn’t believe that Bowie had actually had the soup delivered. That was exceedingly thoughtful, and it didn’t match the image she had of him—but that was beginning to change, she realized. Drastically. “I didn’t even know that Lucia’s Italian Café delivered.”
“They don’t usually,” he said in an offhanded manner, setting the two bowls he had found in the cabinet down on the table.
“But they just did for you,” Marlowe pointed out.
“Let’s just say that’s because I’m a very good tipper,” he told her with a wink. Finding a ladle, he brought that over as well, then looked at Marlowe. “We should eat this while it’s still hot. What do yo
u think?” he asked.
Marlowe shrugged. “Go ahead,” she told him. She watched as Bowie used the ladle and distributed equal measures of the soup into her bowl, then his. A great deal more of the liquid still remained in the container. She picked up her soupspoon, paused and then placed it back down.
“What’s wrong?” Bowie asked. She looked as if she was bracing herself for a huge ordeal, not just a bowl of soup.
“I’m still not sure about this,” Marlowe confessed.
Bowie realized that he was hungry, but he wasn’t about to eat anything until Marlowe did. His spoon remained suspended above his own bowl. “What’s the worst thing that can happen?” he asked her.
Well, that was easy enough to answer, Marlowe thought. “I could throw up.”
