The One That Got Away by Madeleine Urban, Rhianne Aile Page A

take care of my best buddy, right?”
    “Yeah.” David grinned. “In the meantime, you’ve got to get to work, and I need to placate Lloyd with something printable. I promise: I’ll be good and wear my sling,” he said, backing away from the soothing touch reluctantly.
    Stepping back, Trace smiled down at him. “All right. I hope to be home by ten tonight, although I’ll need a forklift to move.” He turned and walked out, back to the office where he’d taken to hanging his dry cleaning every few days. David had even cleaned some shelves off for him.
    David refilled his coffee cup and sat back down at the table to wait for his sling to dry. Pulling his laptop closer, he stared at the screen, trying to recapture where he’d been going with his column.

    IT was later than he’d intended when Trace dragged himself up to the house, leather case hanging from one shoulder, jacket slung over it, a small box in the other hand. He juggled it all to lift his keys and get the back door open, entering the kitchen quietly just in case David was asleep.
    The kitchen was dark, so he set his stuff on the table and put the box in the fridge before moving to stand in the doorway to the living room. David was sitting on the couch with his laptop. “Hey,” Trace greeted, leaning against the door frame.
    David looked over his shoulder. Trace’s hair had come loose around his face, his shirt was open with a triangle of his white undershirt showing, the tie hanging loose from the collar. “Oh, hey,” he answered in a slightly dazed voice that showed he’d been deeply engrossed in something. “How was dinner?” Rubbing his eyes, he looked up at the clock. “Damn, it’s late.”
    “Filling. Very, very filling,” Trace answered, wrapping his arms around his midsection. “I brought you a piece of the richest cheesecake in creation,” he added, knowing it was one of David’s favorite treats.
    “Really?” David asked, perking up. He’d been half-asleep, telling himself that he wasn’t waiting up for Trace, but at the mention of cheesecake, he was wide awake. “Guess I have to make coffee, then. Can’t have a good cheesecake without French roast.”
    Trace made a face. “No more food or liquids of any kind for at least twelve hours,” he muttered, turning back into the kitchen and going to start the coffeemaker.
    David looked at the retreating back and grinned. It was the little things that Trace did that made him so special. Not that upsetting his whole life and moving in here to babysit him was a little thing, but David remembered lots of times that Trace had brought him a bottle of wine or something local back from a business trip or called him when they’d both been busy and hadn’t seen each other for a few weeks. Trace was just a great friend. And now cheesecake!
    “Come in here and talk to me,” Trace called out as he measured the coffee. “I spent all night being stared at by wait staff.”
    “You got it.” David strolled in and opened the refrigerator to retrieve the box. Opening a cupboard, he pulled out a dessert plate. Looking up, he caught Trace watching him strangely. “What? A good dessert deserves first-class treatment, not to be shoveled out of a Styrofoam container.”
    Trace snorted. “I ate off fine Limoges china tonight, and believe me, sometimes it doesn’t help.” He shook his head, hitting the button to start the coffee brewing before turning and flopping in a chair at the table. “Oh God. Kill me now.”
    “You want some antacid?”
    “I want a stomach pump,” Trace muttered, head tilted against the back of the chair. “The food was pretty good, really. There was just way too much of it.”
    “You don’t have to eat all of it, you know. Most critics just sample a few mouthfuls of each dish.” David checked the coffeemaker, the cheesecake sitting in front of him so tempting. It occurred to him that he hadn’t really eaten dinner. No wonder he was starved. 

    “Oh believe me,