“Yes, it would have. I already got enough grief for not being into sports like my sisters, all of whom are older and incredibly coordinated. I didn’t need a weirder name than I already have.”
“Cam is very butch,” she said. “Like something from a car.”
He flexed his arm, showing off a good-sized bulge. “That’s me, all right. I wear only muscle shirts to work, even when it’s ten below outside.”
Laughing again, Molly was surprised to find they were both finished with their meals. Which meant she’d get to drag him to her apartment and ravish him until neither of them could move.
He raised his hand to signal the waitress, and that was when it hit her. She couldn’t have sex with Cameron Crawford.
It would ruin everything.
LETTING MOLLY PAY the bill wasn’t easy. He’d been raised by fiercely independent women, strong in all kinds of ways and highly opinionated. But in the back of his mind, he heard his father’s voice telling him that there was nothing wrong with a little chivalry.
“Are you sure?” he asked before the waitress returned. “You had to do the scary part, so I should pay.”
“Are you saying that every time you’ve asked a woman out, she’s footed the bill?”
He grinned. “You’re too clever for your own good. You could have made out like a bandit.”
Molly shook her head. “You’ll notice we didn’t go to your favorite restaurant. Besides, I don’t think the rules are so set anymore. Not like they used to be.”
The waitress took the bill folder and his last chance to pay. At least for this meal. “Tell you what,” he said. “Why don’t I get the cab?”
Molly’s lips parted and she blinked. “Um...”
“Oh. Damn. Sorry. I didn’t mean... That was presumptuous, but not intentional. The cab could just be for you. Even if you live in Connecticut, I don’t mind.” He folded his napkin again, this time putting it on top of his plate instead of on the table. But he had to look at her eventually. When he did, she was smiling. Kind of. Not that big infectious grin he’d seen earlier, but something tighter.
“It’s okay. I was thinking about inviting you over for coffee, but I live all the way in Bensonhurst, and I have a terrible apartment and no milk, in case you like milk. In your coffee.”
He congratulated himself on turning what had been a relaxed and easy conversation into an awkward mess. “I don’t take milk in my coffee, thanks, so we’re good. So, Bensonhurst, huh? I haven’t been to Little Italy, but I have gone to Chinatown. Do you live near there?”
She nodded, but he was reasonably sure she was still troubled by his assumption. “I have cookies, too. They’re just packaged, nothing fancy.”
Maybe not that troubled. “I’m not fancy, either. You ready to go?”
She led him through the restaurant as he tried to figure out his next move. He wanted to go to her place. But he’d misconstrued what he’d thought had been a solid green light. Coffee could mean coffee or it could mean sex. He didn’t think cookies meant anything but cookies. The only thing to do was let things play out. By the time they got to her place, he’d know what to do.
At almost nine, the August heat was still oppressive. The humid air settled over him like a wet dishrag. There were so many people on the street who looked as if they were partially melted. But not Molly.
It had to be starch that kept her blouse from wilting. He’d never given starch a thought, outside of its chemical properties, but now he wanted to touch her shirt, see if it felt stiff or soft.
Instead, he stepped off the curb and threw his arm up. He wasn’t the only one. Despite the subway station nearby, people wanted cabs, preferably with air-conditioning.
A brush of fingers on his bare arm startled him. He leaned toward her so he could hear her against all the traffic noise.
“Sorry,” she said.
He dropped his arm. “Oh—”
“No, not like that. I was going to say something, but I lost the thread. It’ll come back to me.”
“Sure. Okay.”
She smiled. Then she lifted her arm as she turned her attention to the stream of traffic. Not five seconds later, a yellow taxi stopped.
Inside, the cab smelled fresh and felt cool. Molly gave the driver her address, and they both settled in the back, close but not touching.
“I noticed you do a lot of teaching,” he said, hoping to recapture the mood from dinner. “Have you ever done that on a wine-tasting cruise?”
Her short laugh was answer enough. “What made you think of that?”
“I saw a commercial. Seven days to Paris and Normandy. It showed a table full of guests with five or six glasses of wine in front of them. It sounded great...until I thought of rough seas.”
Molly coughed and laughed at the same time, and he thought she might even be choking. All he could do was pat her back until she held up her hand to stop him. She took a couple of deep, clear breaths before she sat back and dabbed at her eyes with a tissue.
“That was horrible,” she said.
“I have no excuse. It was wine related, and my mind just went there, and I can’t do anything but apologize.”
“I don’t think one apology is nearly enough.” She shivered. “God, what a picture.”
But instead of telling the cabbie to pull over so she could shove him out the door, she giggled. That same light-as-air laugh that he’d heard in the restaurant. For his next trick, he hoped to inspire another wide grin.
“I thought this would be the easiest date in the history of dates,” she said.
“Me, too.”
“In some ways, it has been.” She was staring intently at him. The humor of a minute ago had been replaced with a hint of confusion that Cam didn’t understand.
“And not just because of our jobs. Okay, some of it is because of our similar careers, but there was—”
“A connection.”
“Yeah.”
He’d moved closer to her when she was coughing. His thigh pressed against hers, the top of his arm touched her shoulder. Her eyes widened as he leaned in to press his lips against hers.
She gasped.
He didn’t move or breathe.
Until she made it a kiss.
* * *
