Childhood Sweethearts No More Chapter 1

I've used my status as Rachel Drew's childhood friend to cling to her world for twenty years.

Everyone knows I'm the headache she can't shake, the one who's always finding some new way to make her life difficult.

But the day she picked up her new car, I suddenly reined in every last one of my moods and turned as silent as a ghost.

Even Rachel found the change unsettling.

She drove back to our shared apartment late that night through the rain, and for the first time ever, softened her tone to explain herself to me.

"I didn't let you ride with me tonight because Dennis has a thing about germs. He can't stand the smell of grease and smoke that clings to you from the stew house.

"The rain wasn't bad, so I just dropped him off first. Can we please not do the silent treatment again?"

So it was Dennis Collin's precious germ phobia again, the one that couldn't stand a whiff of anything that smelled like real cooking.

I gave her a thin smile. "It's fine. I don't mind."

Not that it mattered. In three days, I'd be leaving abroad for the Le Cordon Violet culinary school in Dufonce, and after that, neither of us would have to worry about who smelled like what.

* * *

Rachel Drew stood in the entryway, her brow faintly furrowed, as if she were waiting for me to blow up at her the way I always did.

After all, for the past twenty years, any time so much as another man came near her, I'd made a scene about it. And today, of all days, was the day she'd picked up her new Porsche Panamera.

I'd eaten simple bread alongside her for three straight months and helped her polish more proposals than I could count, all so she could land the deal that let her pay for that car in full.

The first thing she did once she had the keys in hand was put Dennis Collin in the passenger seat and leave me standing alone outside the dealership.

"You really don't mind?"

Rachel had changed into her slippers and come to stand in front of me, studying my face.

I kept my head down, folding clothes into my suitcase, and didn't bother looking up.

"I don't mind. Dennis's delicate. It's only right you take extra care of him."

Her frown deepened. She grabbed my hand mid-fold.

"Adrian, don't you dare talk to me in that tone.

"Dennis doesn't just have a thing about germs, he has severe asthma. Your stew house reeks, and you know it. If he breathes that in, it'll set him off.

"If it's really bothering you, I'll take you to buy those limited-edition sneakers you've had your eye on. How about it?"

Sneakers?

I looked at her face, cold and pretty as ever but laced with impatience now, and almost laughed.

I'd spotted those sneakers a month ago. I hadn't let myself buy them, saving up instead for her car present.

And the welcome gift she'd given Dennis? A designer watch worth well over twenty thousand dollars.

"Don't bother. I've got enough shoes."

I slid my hand free and tucked the last sweater into the suitcase.

Rachel finally noticed the suitcase on the floor, and her eyes went cold.

"Adrian Dwayne, what kind of running-away act are you pulling now?"

She used my full name. That was always the first sign her temper was about to snap.

"Every single time I don't fall in line, you throw a fit and haul your things back to your old place like the world's ending. You're twenty-five now. A grown man. Could you try growing up a little?"

I zipped the suitcase shut and stood, meeting her eyes straight on.

"I'm not pulling anything. I'm just taking the winter clothes to the dry cleaner."

Rachel blinked, caught off guard. She raked a hand through her hair, irritated, and her tone softened again.

"Fine. I was wrong today, all right? I shouldn't have left you standing there in the rain.

"My stomach's been aching all day. Go make some pasta, with two fried eggs."

She rattled off the order like it was second nature, certain I'd feel sorry for her and go running to the kitchen.

I looked at the hand she had pressed against her stomach, and what flashed through my mind instead was that afternoon.