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over.”
    â€œYou’re welcome. I have to admit I had ulterior motives.”
    He arched a brow, curious as to where this conversation was headed. “Yeah? And what would those be?”
    â€œI live alone, so I eat by myself most nights unless Ihave something planned with my friends. So you’re kind of my savior tonight.”
    He’d never been anyone’s savior, and he sure hadn’t been there when it had counted for his brother. “Glad I could be here for you. And you’re saving me from another night of bland pot roast or my millionth turkey sandwich of the week.”
    â€œWhat about your parents? They live in town, right?”
    â€œYeah, they do.”
    She waited a beat, and when he didn’t say anything more, she followed up with, “Oh, you know you could always eat at Bert’s diner. The food there is awesome and is the closest thing to home cooking as you can get.”
    She’d grabbed a clue really fast that he didn’t want to talk about his parents, which he gave her credit for.
    â€œI eat there once in a while. But mostly I just head upstairs from the auto shop to the apartment.”
    She took a sip of her tea and studied him. “Why is that?”
    He shrugged. “I guess I just want to be alone.”
    â€œIn the bell tower.”
    â€œHuh?”
    Her lips curved. “You’ve kind of garnered a reputation around town as a recluse, Brady.”
    â€œI have?”
    â€œYes. You don’t hang out with the guys. You don’t date. You don’t socialize, period. So people have made up stories about you.”
    He laid his fork down. “Is that right? What kinds of stories?”
    She lifted her eyes as if she was trying to remember. “Well, let’s see. One has you cooking meth up there. Another I’ve heard is that you’re into BDSM and you’ve set up your secret bondage club in the apartment. Oh, and another says you’re Hope’s newest mobster, running your money-laundering operation from your lair above Carter’s shop.”
    He hadn’t heard any of this. Then again, he rarely talked to people, so where would he hear it from?
    â€œMeth? Really? Bondage? And a mobster? People have good imaginations.”
    â€œYou know where we live, Brady. People will gossip.”
    â€œAnd yet you trusted me enough to invite me over for dinner.”
    She shrugged. “I don’t tend to pay much attention to gossip. Plus all of those ideas are ridiculous.”
    He studied her. “Which means you have one of your own.”
    She took a sip of tea, smiling at him over the rim of her glass. “Of course.”
    â€œWhich is?”
    â€œThat you’re secretly a Russian spy, on the run and in hiding from your country’s assassins, who know you’ve turned double agent and you’re selling intelligence secrets to the US. But you can’t blow your cover and come out with your intel until the superassassin who’s after you has been flushed out and taken down.”
    Brady arched a brow. “Watch a lot of TV, Megan?”
    She shrugged. “I read a lot.”
    He finished off his chicken and pushed his plate to the side. “I think I like your scenario best.”
    She grinned. “Thanks. I thought it was a good one.”
    He leaned back and took a couple of long swallows of tea, trying to digest both his meal and the information Megan had given him about what the town thought of him.
    Okay, so maybe he’d pushed people away after Kurt’s death. And maybe he’d been more than a little reclusive. But damn, the gossips had been working overtime on him, hadn’t they?
    Though he’d been honest when he told Megan hers was the best. She had a decent imagination.
    â€œReady for dessert?” she asked.
    â€œYou mean there’s more?”
    She stood and grabbed her plate, looking down on him as if he’d just asked the dumbest question ever.