Her Lover's Legacy

“A habit of doing what?”

“Running away.” Gloria leaned back and folded her arms. “You haven’t noticed?” She smirked. “When things get a little hot, you always seem to need to run out…for air.”

Malcolm leaned back and mimicked her pose. “Is that right?”

“It makes me wonder if you have what it takes to…”

Brows sloped unevenly, he asked, “Have what it takes to do what?”

“Nothing,” she said blithely. “Forget I said anything.”

“No.” He shook his head. “Obviously, you have something you want to say, as well.”

Their waiter, Quon, a tall, lanky Asian with an obvious aversion to smiling, arrived and Gloria breathed a sigh of relief.

“Ah, Ms. Kingsley. Nice to see you here again,” he said, setting two empty plastic cups before them and then filling them with a pitcher of iced water. “Are you ready to order?”

“Yes,” Gloria said.

“No,” Malcolm countered, and then added, “Could you please give us a few more minutes?”

Gloria’s brows stretched high. Maybe she wasn’t off the hook just yet.

“As you wish, sir,” Quon said, sliding away from their table.

“You’ve never struck me as someone who liked to play games,” Malcolm said, the moment they were alone. “But I’m starting to feel like an unprotected king in the center of a chess game.”

Gloria shrugged her shoulder and tried her best to look as innocent as possible. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t you?” He laughed. “You tell me to come help pack my father’s office, assuring me it will only take a couple of hours when you and I both know it would be, at minimum, an all-nighter. Then of course there is this dinner—”

“Well. You make it sound like I held a gun to your head. Is being alone with me so terrible?” she snapped. “Maybe I just wanted…to talk. Share stories about how great a man your father was or how much he meant to me and the other staffers. I was a fan of your father’s long before I started working for him. He was a powerful speaker and he campaigned for health-care reform long before the number of uninsured reached crisis numbers. I was thrilled when Senator Cayman recommended me to Harmon. I just…” After a few seconds with struggling for the right words, she clamped her mouth shut, but her lips continued to tremble and tears burned the backs of her eyes.

Gloria drew a deep breath and tried to pull herself together. It wasn’t supposed to be this hard.

At the first sight of tears shimmering in Gloria’s eyes, Malcolm felt as if he’d been punched in the gut. Obviously, the woman was still grieving, and here he was…

He sighed. “Look. So far it seems I’ve spent half the night apologizing to you for my behavior. Why don’t we just…start over?”

She glanced at him and wiped a tear before it broke free from the mesh of her eyelashes.

“For real,” he assured her. “This time, I’ll be on my best behavior.” He placed his hand over his heart. “I promise.”

Finally, Gloria smiled and nodded.

Their waiter returned. “Have you two made your decisions?”

“Hmm.” Malcolm grabbed his menu and quickly perused the items. “What’s good here?”

“You should really try the Hunan chicken with black mushrooms,” Gloria suggested. “It was your father’s…I mean…” Her words trailed off.

Malcolm offered her a small smile. “I know what you mean. And you know what?” He handed the menu over to the waiter. “I think that’s exactly what I’ll have.”

She returned the smile and surprised him by ordering the Mongolian barbecue beef. She might be a small woman but she had a healthy appetite. He liked that.

“Very good selection,” Quon intoned, his lips still a flat line as he scurried off toward the kitchen.

Being alone with Gloria—with anyone, really—was the very thing Malcolm had tried to avoid since the news of his father’s death.

He wasn’t ready to be the shoulder to cry on. How could he deal with other people’s grief when he didn’t know how to deal with his own? However, the longer he stayed in Gloria’s presence, the more he was able to see through her thin veneer. She wanted what everyone wanted—for him to open up.

And maybe—just maybe—he wanted that, too.

As he witnessed her struggle, a small part of him caved. “I loved my father,” Malcolm said suddenly.

Gloria lifted her shimmering gaze.

“I don’t want you to think I stopped loving him,” he added softly, and then cleared his throat. “I still love him. It’s just that our relationship in the past couple of years was…complicated.”

“Most are.”

“Oh?” He arched his brow. “I’ve never heard you talk about your family.”

“When have you ever been around?” she asked.

“I guess that’s a good point,” Malcolm said with a tilt of his head. “Are you close to your father?”

Gloria’s eyes lowered to the table while she gave a firm shake of her head.

Malcolm wondered how it was possible she could judge him when she apparently had issues with her own father. Yet, he bit back the comment.

As if she’d heard his private thoughts, she responded, “Trust me. My father wasn’t half the man Harmon Braddock was. He was a drunk and an abuser. The happiest day in my life was when he walked right out of it.”

Stunned, Malcolm remained silent. Finally, he slowly nodded in understanding, but he was more curious than ever. During their quiet spells, Malcolm couldn’t help but reflect over his childhood once again, zeroing in on the number of Little League and college games his father did make time for, and the number of father-and-son camping events he and Ty enjoyed despite their father’s busy schedule. Harmon Braddock had a way of making his sons feel ten feet tall, always bragging to anyone who’d stand still long enough to listen.

The truth of the matter was that Malcolm had had a wonderful childhood.

That annoying stinging in the back of Malcolm’s eyes returned as well as the mountainous lump clogging his windpipe, but thank God, Quon returned, rescuing him from his emotions with their dinner orders.

“Can I get you anything else?” the waiter asked, setting their plates before them.

After they assured him they had everything they needed, Quon, once again, slipped away from the table.

For a time they ate in silence before Malcolm blurted, “I keep thinking that at any moment I’m going to wake up and find out that the past week has just been a dream.” He stared into his plate. “A nightmare, really.”

Gloria said nothing.

“It’s true what they say,” he said. “Regret has a way of killing you softly. There were so many times I wanted to call.”