Free Feels Like Family by Sherryl Woods

things.”
    “You eavesdrop?”
    “I remain attuned to my surroundings,” he contradicted.
    “How is that any different from eavesdropping?”
    “If you come with me, I’ll explain it to you.”
    “I don’t want to come with you,” she murmured.
    He fought a grin. “Do it anyway. Just think about what I’m offering—a hot-fudge sundae and someone willing to sit quietly and listen to all your woes. Do you know how many women would beg to be in your place?”
    “I’m not one of them,” she claimed. “I just want to be left alone.”
    “I’m sure that’s your usual way of coping with things,” he agreed. “Doesn’t seem to be working out so well today. How about trying something new?”
    “Spilling my guts to you?”
    He nodded.
    She actually seemed to be weighing the offer. When she finally nodded, he felt a far greater sense of relief than he should have. He attributed that to having been spared tossing her over his shoulder and carrying her into Wharton’s.
    “Let’s go, then,” he said, tucking her arm through his. “I’ll do my best to make this painless.”
    “Whatever,” she said, sounding a little like a petulant child.
    “Think of it this way. If you had to spill your guts to a shrink, you’d be paying a hundred dollars or more an hour. I’m a bargain.”
    “And you’re throwing in a hot-fudge sundae, too,” she said grudgingly. “Is this my lucky day or what?”
    “Told you so.”
    It remained to be seen if it was going to be Erik’s lucky day or if this was going to be just one more step down a very slippery slope.

5
    H elen avoided Erik’s concerned gaze and dug into her hot-fudge sundae. It might only be 9:00 a.m., but Erik had been right. The combination of rich vanilla ice cream, thick fudge sauce and whipped cream was just what she needed. She could barely remember what had thrown her into such an emotional tailspin and sent her fleeing from the spa and Maddie.
    What the sundae wasn’t accomplishing, Erik was. He was a very disconcerting man. Few other men would have dragged her out for ice cream at this hour or even guessed that it was what she needed. In fact, most men would have been put off by her tears and run the other way.
    “You ready to tell me what’s going on?” he asked eventually.
    She took another overflowing spoonful of the sundae to avoid speaking and shook her head.
    “Sooner or later you’re going to finish the ice cream and you won’t have an excuse not to talk,” he reminded her as he lounged on the seat across from her, seemingly content to sip his coffee while she made a total pig of herself.
    “I’ll have to leave as soon as I finish this,” she said, pleasedwith the perfect excuse. “I’m already running late for work. Barb will send out a search party if I don’t show up soon.”
    His mouth curved into a smile. “Okay, then. You’d better start talking now.”
    “Look,” she said, “I skipped breakfast. That’s the only reason you were successful at persuading me to come here. My blood sugar must have been low.”
    “And is that what made you cry in public?”
    She shrugged. “It can have all sorts of weird effects.”
    “Trust me, that’s usually not one of them,” he said.
    He sounded very sure. She studied him curiously. “What do you know about it?”
    “You have no idea how many pieces of miscellaneous information I have stored away here.” He tapped his head.
    “But you said that with some authority,” Helen countered. “Is that because you read up on diabetes so you could keep an eye on Dana Sue?”
    “Yeah, that’s it,” he said, but his expression had become shuttered. Helen sensed this was far from the whole story. Pushing aside the sundae, she put her elbows on the table and leaned toward him. Maybe she could avoid his probing questions by asking a few of her own. “I just realized that I know very little about you. Who are you, Erik Whitney? And what were you before you became a chef?”
    “What makes