Page 13 of Players Like Us (Reunion Gap #7)

N ickels and Pennies was the third restaurant Rachel and Neal visited in six days.

When he first suggested they “test” out a few popular restaurants before she drew up plans for Matilda’s makeover, she’d been hesitant, definitely not interested.

Dreading it was a more accurate description.

Of course, she couldn’t turn him down, not when her gut told her Dominic listened to this man and his opinion.

What an odd dynamic—the businessman deferring to the playboy.

And yet, Neal had appeared more businessman than playboy these last few nights as they discussed food, wine, fabric, and style from both a customer and a business owner’s perspective.

He’d mentioned the bottom line and tossed in terms like return on investment and inventory control a few times.

When Rachel questioned him on his knowledge of them, he’d laughed and told her they were the buzz words his brother used on him during his annual lecture on responsibility and purpose.

While that might have once been true, she wasn’t so certain it still was... Neal had referenced projections, total revenue, and cash flow in regard to restaurant operations. The more time she spent with the man, the more curious she became to uncover the real Neal Alexander.

“Did you know your father warned me to stay away from you?”

That comment shocked her. “My father? When?”

Neal shifted in his chair—tonight they’d decided to try a table instead of a booth—cleared his throat, offered a half smile and a shrug.

“I was home from college and I stopped in at the office, no doubt to ask my old man for more money. He was in a meeting and I had to wait, so I started wandering around, curious to see what people were doing. Your dad wasn’t in his office, but I walked inside anyway because I’m an Alexander, right? We own everything, don’t we?”

Rachel eyed him. “Not everything.”

“Good point, but somebody should tell my old man. Anyway, I ended up at the bookshelf, taking in all the journals and accounting books. I figured your father was a big history buff because there were hardcovers of Winston Churchill, Dwight D. Eisenhower, and a bunch of others. Books can tell a lot about a person.”

“Yes, they can.” Keep talking. I want to hear how my father warned you to stay away from me.

Neal forked a hunk of lettuce and tomato. “I love history; that’s one of the reasons I travel to places where the history is rich: Rome, Athens, London.”

She stared at him as if trying to sift through his words to determine what was truth and what was fiction. “I doubt that’s the only reason you travel there.”

His lips twitched. “Fair point. But when I wasn’t partying or entertaining, I’d sneak off by myself.

Not with tours because I read up ahead of time and preferred to go on my own.

I wanted to discover things a tour guide might not consider significant.

I still remember Winston Churchill’s bunker.

..the pins in the map...the cigar butts in the ashtrays. ..”

“I’ve never been to any of those places, but they sound fascinating. Not the obvious beauty of each city, but the details you could piece together from places like Churchill’s bunker and the Parthenon...or the Coliseum. They all tell a story...”

“It is fascinating. You should definitely make a point to see a few of those.”

“Maybe one day.” She dipped a piece of bread in the olive oil mixture next to her, wondered what it would be like to experience those places with someone who was as interested and excited about them as she was... Someone like Neal...

“It’s nice to share a meal with a woman who isn’t afraid to eat.”

Rachel had just bitten into the bread, her second slice... She glanced at Neal, tried to keep the heat from rushing to her cheeks. No luck.

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” he said, his voice gentle.

“That was a compliment.” He picked up a hunk of bread from his plate, dipped it in the olive oil, plunked it in his mouth and chewed.

When she remained silent, he leaned toward her, his voice low.

“I love to eat and it’s refreshing and relaxing to not have to monitor how much or what goes in my mouth.

Trust me, it’s no fun to share a meal with someone who counts strands of spaghetti and claims eight is her max. ”

And just like that, Neal Alexander turned the awkward moment into a humorous one. Rachel picked up the rest of her bread, raised a brow. “Eight strands? That is just sad.”

His lips pulled into a slow smile. “Indeed it is. Makes you wonder what else they’re regulating in their life...fun, spontaneity...”

“And dessert.”

Neal’s laughter poured over her, made her want to hear more about that day in her father’s office. “So, what’s the rest of the story with my father? You have to tell me since he’s never breathed a word.”

“Can you blame him?”

“I don’t know. It depends on what you were doing.” What was he doing?

The tiniest hint of pink covered his cheeks. “Like I said, I was perusing the books and then I worked my way to the credenza and spotted your picture. I’m guessing it was the summer before college.”

Oh, that summer. Yes, she recalled it and the blush on his cheeks said he did, too.

“You were wearing a red T-shirt and jeans, sitting on a park bench, and you had the biggest smile on your face...like you owned the world. There was something about that smile… Pure happiness and freedom. That’s what pulled me in, made me want to know what you were thinking.

” He blew out a long sigh, toyed with his fork.

“I knew you’d probably never want to see me again after. ..well, you know...”

After that summer night when she’d offered him anything and he’d turned her away. “Right,” was all she could manage.

Neal dragged his gaze to hers. “But for those few seconds, I thought about it. Stupid, but it’s true. Anyway, your dad walked in about then.”

“And?”

“And I guess I was so caught up in that photo that I never heard him, but when he told me to drop it? I did—literally. I dropped the photograph and the glass shattered on the floor and made a huge mess. I tried to apologize for breaking the frame and worse for venturing into his office, but he didn’t want to hear any of it.

He pointed a finger at the door and told me to get out. ”

“I wondered why the photo ended up on our mantel.” She shook her head, let out a soft sigh. “The next time I visited his office, he’d replaced it with a picture of me when I was around twelve.” Rachel scrunched up her nose. “Pigtails and braces. Ugh. Of course, he said it was one of his favorites.”

Neal set down his fork, nodded. “No doubt he wanted to make sure I never got near you. I can’t blame him. If I had a daughter, I wouldn’t want someone like me around her either, even if he had an honest interest.”

“An honest interest?” Her pulse tripled. “What does that even mean?”

Those blue eyes glittered with emotion. “Let’s just say, people change and maybe I wasn’t always about the next feel-good whatever, but once you get labeled it’s hard to change opinions.”

Was he referring to himself now, or back in high school? Is that why he’d rejected her? Because he wasn’t or didn’t want to be the person everyone thought he was? And he didn’t want to hurt her?

What was the truth and how could she find it?

“What if that’s not who you really are? Is it still hard to change opinions?”

He met her gaze, held it, “Even then.”

“So, I guess the question is who’s the real Neal Alexander? I thought I knew but now I’m not so sure.”

His voice dipped, turned soft, gentle, so persuasive. “There’s only one way to find out.”

She could barely get out the words. “Such as?”

“Spend time with me.” Pause, and a slow smile. “Get to know me.”