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I wasn’t here to make friends. I was there to save my brother’s life. “Natalia blames me for the breakup. Hell, everyone in town does, yourself included. So no, I think friendship is off the table.”
“I know you didn’t mean to break them up. You were simply trying to offer Anthony guidance. Your dad would’ve done the same thing had he still been alive.”
Did she think I was trying to be like Dad? Nope. I wasn’t anywhere near worthy enough for that comparison. He was a far better man than I could ever hope to be. And dying at forty-five like that . . .
“I’d rather not talk about the past. Or Natalia.” I needed to ease into the inheritance conversation as quickly as possible without raising too many questions. I had less than two weeks, and it felt like there was a grenade in my hand, the pin already pulled, and time was running out.
“Spill it. I know you’re here for a reason.”
Yeah, that reason’s your other son. I still hadn’t heard from my brother on the disposable phone the men had left me with, but the second he called and I confirmed he was okay, I’d most likely chew him out.
“Ryan?” Mom prompted when I’d let my thoughts run away.
I turned away from her and set my palms on the counter, my eyes trained on the window again, staring squarely at the Romanos’ two-story brick home. I spied Natalia walking to her Jeep carrying a toolbox and iPad.
What are you up to?
“Can you give me a second?” I twisted around to face Mom, and her eyes narrowed. “We’ll finish this conversation soon. Promise.” I patted her shoulder and started for the side door before she could stop me.
As the morning sunlight sliced through a small opening between the clouds, I shielded my face with my hand and stepped around the plants that served as the only “barrier” between our homes.
It was late October and unseasonably hot for this time of year, especially for this early in the morning. Natalia had the hood of her Jeep propped open, a ball cap parked on her head with her long hair in a ponytail at her back. And God help me . . . she had on overalls.
I paused for a second, fighting a smile as I watched her from a few feet away. Enjoying the moment while she was still unaware of my presence.
“Please tell me you’re not searching YouTube for how to fix your Jeep,” I finally said, startling her. She fumbled the iPad, nearly dropping it onto the toolbox by her booted feet. Her dark red Doc Martens had to be a holdover from her high school days. I don’t know why that thought irked me. Just more memories of a past I could never get back.
Natalia turned slowly, then pinned the iPad to her chest with one hand while she studied me.
It took her longer than I expected to assess my sneakers, black athletic shorts, and white tee. I was considering going for a run while waiting for my uncle to call back.
I’d left a message with his assistant, and the wait was killing me. With the time difference between the U.S. and Italy, I figured he’d call me back in a couple of hours. He probably kept pretty busy running the Rossi “empire.”
“You can’t fix it yourself,” I said when she’d yet to talk. “Just so we’re clear.”
Natalia knelt and set the iPad on top of the rusty toolbox before closing the space between us. She tugged on the brim of her hat as if wanting to hide her eyes, more so from me than the sun. “Did you come over here just to make fun of me? Or do you plan on offering a hand?”
Like a dick, I reached out and opened my palm to the sky, offering her “a hand.”
She lifted her palm over mine, allowing it to hover there as she kept her eyes on my face, and I was pretty sure she planned to slap my smartass hand away. I’d deserve that. But before she had a chance to make her move, I circled her wrist, drawing her closer. I wanted a better look at her without interference from her black ball cap.
“I can’t help, either. Not without parts,” I clarified, my voice dropping lower with those pale green eyes focused on me.
When I let go of her, she asked, “Where can I get what I need?”
Right here.
And shit.
That was my sex-deprived brain hijacking my thoughts. Thank God I’d learned long ago to master the art of inner monologue and the ability to think before talking around this woman. Well, normally. Snatching her petite wrist and drawing her practically against my body should have been a choreographed thought, not an actual action on my part.
“I know a guy. He worked with my dad back in the day. I can get them wholesale for you.”
Her gaze fell to the tiny sliver of space on the driveway between us. Was there something wrong?
From what I’d gathered, she had a successful business. I could understand living at home to save money since her restaurant was new, but trading in her Rubicon for an old Jeep that barely ran? No, that didn’t add up.
Are you having money problems?
