Lynda Sandoval - Her Favourite Holiday Gift

But whatever. This small talk was the worst.

He’d never been a pro at it, and never with a woman like Colleen, who threw him so totally offkilter. He wanted to ask what happened between them. Wanted to know if their single night together had been as life-affirming for her.

He wanted to touch her.

None of that was going to happen, though, and they had to converse. He cleared his throat. “Do you eat here often?” Had he seriously just asked that? He resisted the urge to cringe. That ranked high on the dumbest questions ever asked list. Maybe he was just like those cleavage-obsessed teenage boys at the Navy Pier.

“Not really,” she said, seemingly unaware of his discomfort. “I live nearby.”

He nodded, unsure what to say about that. He lived nearby, too, but he ate here at least four times a week. Was it a male versus female thing, or was that sexist? He wondered if cooking was a hobby and she preferred to eat at home, or if she packed a lunch. He wondered how she lived her life. He wondered, simply wondered, about Colleen Delaney.

Clearly, she didn’t have much to add, and he didn’t know where to go in the conversation, now that they’d skipped from point uncomfortable to point awkward. Did he really want to take another leap to point excruciating? They waited, shoulder to shoulder, in pregnant silence until the elfin blonde bopped up and led them to their corner booth.

Safely behind menus on opposite sides of the table, Eric breathed more easily. He glanced up at Colleen. “How’s your mother?”

Colleen blinked, as if startled by the intimacy of the question or the fact that he’d give a rip in the first place. Something. “My mother?”

“Yeah. You know, she’s that woman who gave birth to you back in the day?”

Colleen ignored his quip. “She’s fine. Well, getting better finally.”

“Was she ill?” He set his menu aside, knowing he’d order the French Dip, like always. Perusing the menu at The Chambers was purely habit.

Colleen shook her head. “Not sick, really. She had a knee replacement. Injured it trying to surf with her last boyfriend,” she added, her tone acidic.

“That’s awesome.”

“If you say so. I moved her into my place to recover, and now we’re apparently permanent roommates.”

“Wow.” He thought about any member of his family moving into his serene, lovingly restored greystone Victorian, and one word came to mind—hives. “How’s that working out for you?”

Eyebrows raised, Colleen set her menu on the edge of the table as well. “I’m not sure. She drives me crazy half the time, rearranging my kitchen utensils, putting my clean laundry away in spots where I can’t find it, nagging me about working too hard.” She hiked one shoulder, and the tenor of her voice changed. “The other half, it’s nice to have her there, I suppose.”

“Welcome to the definition of family.”

A moment of silence descended. Colleen tugged at her cuffs, uncrossed and recrossed her legs, cleared her throat. Finally, she asked, “And your family?”

“Pretty much the same as the last time we talked.” Which had been…wow…a long time ago. “Mom and Dad still live out in Schaumburg and expect us all there promptly at six for Friday-night dinner, no excuses.”

She spared him a half-smirk. “Your least favorite night of the week still?”

He tilted his head to the side. “You remembered.”

Ignoring that, she asked, “And your brothers?”

“My youngest brother, Brian, settled down not too far from them. The other three are here in Chicago. Working, one-upping each other at every turn, the annoying norm.” He often wondered how he’d grown up to be so different from his ultracompetitive family. They could—and did—debate about everything from gold values to golf to global warming, with the single-minded goal of winning, no matter what. And when he didn’t want to debate, which was often? They goaded him. Like rabid dogs.

“Married?”

Eric assumed Colleen wasn’t asking about him. “Only Brian. He works with my dad at the store.”

“A sporting-goods store, right?”

“Yep.” He formed two L shapes with his hands and thumbs, as if framing the sign that had hung on the main drag in Schaumburg since he could remember. “Nelson Sports and Hunting. Still running strong.”

“Good for your dad.”

He watched Colleen tilt her head to the left, which always meant she was thinking, calculating.

“Now, wait. Isn’t Brian pretty young?”

“The ‘oops’ brother?” Eric nodded. “Yes, twentyone. And Melody—that’s Brian’s wife—is only twenty. She works as a receptionist at a small law firm in the city and she runs some idiotic gossip Web site on the side. Typical twenty-year-old.” He reconsidered his judgmental comment at the slight shocked widening of Colleen’s blue eyes. “I could’ve phrased that better. The idiotic site will be a good source of income, I guess, when the baby comes. Oh, they’re expecting, Brian and Melody. My mother’s losing her mind with happiness. A baby. Extended family. New Nelson generation and all that.”

“That’s…nice.”

“Yeah, all I can think of is Brian becoming a father the same year he’s legal to drink. Crazy.”

“That is…wow.” She sat back. “They’re young. Are they ready for parenthood?”

“Do they have a choice at this point?”

“True.”

The conversation felt so casual, it lulled Eric into a sense of normalcy. “It’s good to see you. You look great, Colleen. Really.”

Her eyes hardened and the thin line of connection between them snapped like a dried-out rubber band. “We need to talk about the case.”

Duly noted. No compliments. She never had been the kind of woman who liked to be admired for her considerable beauty, but come on. It wasn’t like a guy didn’t notice. He’d known about her pet peeve, of course, but what else did you say when you saw someone for the first time in years? So she looked great. Shoot him for pointing it out.

Just then, the harried waiter approached, plunked two glasses of water on the table. “Sorry for the wait,” he said, slightly out of breath. “What can I get for you?”

They placed their orders. Once the waiter had bustled off, Colleen seemed to have regained some of her flash and fire. “Honestly, how can you stand by and let Robby Axelrod work on another TakaHanson project?”

Eric took his time. He leaned back, stretching his arm along the back of the brown leather banquette. “How much do you know about Ned Jones?”

“What kind of question is that?” she rasped, color rising to angry spots on her cheeks. “He’s my client.”

“Right. Aware of that. And how much do you know about him?” The calm thing was getting easier by the moment.

Her lips flattened into a grim line. “I know he was unfairly, unethically terminated because he had dirt on your client.”

“If that’s all you know, you need to dig deeper.”

Her knuckles, wound together on the tabletop, whitened, and she went deadly still. “Are you honestly sitting here telling me how to do my job?”

He counted to ten silently. Why did everything with Colleen devolve into a fight? He started to remember why they were better apart, but strangely, he didn’t want to fall back into that pattern. “I’m trying to do you a favor, from one old friend to another.”

“My client—”

“Is not the bad guy,” Eric said gently. That snagged her attention. He waited until she’d closed her mouth, an indication she was listening. “At least, I don’t think he’s the brains behind anything. Gut feeling.”

“The man doesn’t have the brains to concoct a plot.”

Ah, so she did know a bit more about her client than she’d initially claimed. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I think he’s the pawn in a much bigger, uglier game.”