Page 93 of Once Upon a Lie

He steps inside, and the condo immediately feels warmer. He smells like clean soap and whatever delicious cologne he wears that mixes with his skin pheromones to send me into a tizzy.

Perceptive as ever, his eyes immediately go to Pip sprawled across the floor, and his smile grows. “Is Alfred here too?”

I shake my head. “Just Pip. Alfred had to visit his sister Marlene in Memphis, so Pip’s been my pal all day. Al will be back tomorrow.”

“Hey, buddy.” Shane moves over to where Pip is still lying on the rug. Pip’s tail starts moving a mile a minute, and Shane scratches his little doggy chest until a sigh of contentment escapes his tiny snout.

I make my way back to the oven and pull out the bread.

“The food smells incredible.”

I glance over my shoulder to find Shane standing behind me, checking out the spread on the stove.

“I can’t wait for you to taste it,” I say with pride. I grab a fresh spoon out of the drawer, put a little sauce on it, and hold it out for him. “Here. I need an unbiased party to make sure I didn’t put too much garlic in it.”

The instant the sauce hits his tongue, he moans. “Marry me.”

I laugh. “How about you help me set the table before you try to lock me into marriage?” I swat his shoulder with a dish towel.

Shane grins, and we fall easily into a routine more befitting of longtime partners. He sets the table, pours the wine without asking, and steals a meatball when he thinks I’m not looking, while I finish up the rest.

It feels natural. Exciting. So comfortable it heals.

As we sit down to eat, Pip stationed loyally at my feet, we talk about nothing too important—the shop, a goofy customer at The Hole Story, a funny conversation he had with Stanley in the mailroom, but as I study him over my glass of wine, I notice the shadows under his eyes.

He looks tired—and maybe a little distracted.

“You know, you’re kind of a mystery to me still,” I hedge. “I feel like you know everything there is to know about me, but I still have so many questions about you.”

“Oh yeah?” He looks up, brows lifting slightly. “What kind of questions?”

“I don’t know . . .” I pause and shrug. “Your family? Where you grew up? If you have siblings? What your parents are like? Stuff like that.”

He adjusts in his seat, his fingers fidgeting with the stem of his own glass. “Well . . . I grew up here in Nashville. No siblings,” he says after a beat. “And my parents . . . were really wonderful people. The best, actually.”

Were? My chest tightens.

“They passed away when I was eighteen,” he adds quietly. “I was still a senior in high school when they died.”

“God, Shane. I’m so sorry,” I say.

“Me too.” He nods once. “Tragic car accident. Pretty much changed everything.”

“That’s a lot to carry so young.”

“Yeah.” He exhales. “But I had my uncle Benny. He took me in. He’s old-school, a real hard-ass, but he showed up when I needed him most, and for that I’m thankful.”

I nod, absorbing that and filing it somewhere careful.

Silence spreads between us for a long moment, both of us still slowly eating. It’s not a huge quantity of information, but it is quality. A man’s early life can shape so much about him, and for Shane specifically, knowing how long he’s been going it solo makes me understand why he keeps things so close to the vest so much better. He’s not used to sharing; he’s used to carrying it all.

Nonetheless, I muster up the nerve to keep the conversation on him. “You’ve been busy the past couple days. Lots of odd jobs?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs. “A new sink for a buddy, and a couple roof things for a guy terrified of heights. Not exactly saving people’s lives, but with the weather coming this week, he really needed some stuff done.”

“Of course. I’ve been busy, too, serving the masses lattes and bagels.” I snort. “I, too, am doing the really important work.”

Shane shakes his head. “No, don’t do that. What you do is perfect. It’s different for me because I’m . . . coasting. What you do is passion.”