Read Knowing Vera (Romantic Suspense, Family Drama) (Chance for Love) for Free Online Page B

problem. Let me … ah … collect my clothes and …” I untangle the sheets and search for my bra.
    He averts his eyes. “I understand if you want to leave.”
    I’m not going to admit defeat even though he rejected me because, apparently, we’re not connected enough. I finish dressing and push my hair from my face. “Actually, I came to cook dinner and hang out with you.”
    Zach raises an eyebrow. “You’re feeling guilty, aren’t you? Did Maryanne talk you into this? What did she say?”
    “She’s the one wallowing in guilt, not me!”
    He laughs for the first time, and it’s a deep, belly-rumbling laugh. “She feels so bad about my accident. She thinks I deserve a happy ending and that you’re the one to give it to me.”
    “You think this is funny?” I slap the rock-hard bed with both hands and lift off it.
    “No, no, sorry. I’ll take the home-cooked dinner and the hanging out. But I don’t want pity sex.” He pulls on his shirt and grabs a crutch to heft himself off the bed.
    “You weren’t going to get any.” I avoid his eyes and busy myself, tucking his sheets back in place. “I have to get groceries. Do you want chicken, beef or seafood?”
    “Nice change of subject, missy. I need a shower and a shave. It’s a date?”
    I can’t help but smile. The Zach charm is back. I cross to his side and tiptoe to kiss his jaw. “Yes, a date. Be right back.”
    He returns a kiss on the side of my head. “And Vera, I appreciate what you tried to do. Very much.”
    ***
    The grocery store is crowded. Serious food shoppers don’t come in the evening, so I understand why the customers behind me glare at my loaded shopping cart. Zach is a man after all. And all men need the two four-letter F’s taken care of. Since he turned me down on the first one, I can make up for it here.
    I load the food onto the belt: chicken, beef strips, shrimp, rice noodles, soy sauce, scallions, garlic, vegetables, banana ketchup, and calamansi juice, for flavoring and a few bottles for drinking. I love the light citrus taste, not as in your face as lemonade.
    Honestly, I don’t know why I’m doing this. Maybe it’s guilt and pity, or something more. I used to resent Zach’s attitude, like he just expected things to go right for him, for people to be courteous to him and respect him. Being rich and white automatically put him on the top of the totem pole.
    Then there were the women, scads of women vying for his attention. He was charming with that roguish Aussie accent and those electric blue eyes. What woman wouldn’t want to gaze into them? Back then, I wished he knew what it was like to be looked down on, discriminated against, like my Filipino parents were when they came to America, like I was when growing up.
    I pay for the food, bag it in reusable cloth bags and drag everything to my car. If I believed in karma, I would think my bad thoughts caused his accident. The weeks right after his amputation were the hardest. He was on serious pain meds, morphine, and antidepressants. He wouldn’t speak to anyone, stared at the ceiling, refusing to move. Everyone thought I was his girlfriend, that I should visit and encourage him. So I held his hand during my breaks and sang while he slept. I’ll never forget the day he looked into my eyes and said, “I’ve decided to live.”
    It’s dark by the time I arrive at his apartment. Zach insists on bringing the groceries in even though he isn’t wearing his prosthesis. He hops with a crutch and hooks his fingers through the bag handles. His hair is still wet from the shower and his cologne is fresh, but not overpowering. He seems happy to see me, thanking me profusely, his eyes and smile following me around the kitchen. The old Zach wouldn’t have been so transparent. He would have been too busy checking his smartphone to unpack groceries. And he definitely would have preferred sex over companionship.
    I direct him to boil water while I stir-fry the sliced meat and