this town’s history.” She glanced at the clock above the jukebox. “And you have a flight to catch. Have you told Abigail you’re leaving?”
“Not yet.”
“She’ll be disappointed.”
Or relieved.
He set aside the pang of guilt and disappointment in himself and laid another bill on the table. Glancing at his empty cup, he angled his legs out from beneath the table.
“Better get back to the hotel to pack.”
“I’m headed that way. Mind if I tag along?”
He should have at least hesitated. He was leaving. No need to prolong this impromptu meeting. Get any more involved. But as he found his feet, he heard himself say, “Not at all.”
That waitress stopped taking an order to watch them walk by and, it seemed, every other person they passed as they strolled down the street gave a curious smile and tip of their head. But Daniel didn’t care how many tongues would wag. Soon he’d be back home where a person could truly lose himself in the rush, although he wasn’t looking forward to the cooler weather, particularly after today’s pleasant change. Rather than shrugging into his coat, he folded it over an arm and, with a valid reason, inspected Elizabeth’s attire.
“No need for your fur today.”
She flashed a cheeky smile. “It’s not a real fur.”
He tucked in his chin. “Not real? It looks so …”
“Expensive? It is. For a fake.”
“That foxtail belt?”
“Imitation, too. One thing I did change at home was the so-called trophy room.” Despite the sun, she visibly shivered. “From as far back as I can recall, I’ve hated the thought of those walls.” She shot him a look. “Was your father into hunting?”
“He used to be.” When his stomach swooped a sick loop, Daniel cleared his throat and changed tack slightly. “He’s into the law now more than ever. He’s a judge.”
“Did he want you to study the law, too?”
“He demanded that I did.” Glaring dead ahead, he set his jaw. “Only made me more determined not to.”
She pretended to gape at him. “Why, Daniel Warren, you’re a rebel.”
“It’s not rebellious to want to live your own life.”
Decide when to come and when to go. He caught her downcast look. That last comment had obviously got her thinking about her own predicament, and so he swerved the conversation back onto a higher note.
“I wanted to do something different.”
She nodded a greeting to a middle-aged couple walking their dachshund then asked, “What got you interested in architecture?”
“My typical male brain. I like to build things. I thought about studying to be an engineer but a friend’s father was an architect. He showed me a few of his drawings one summer and I was hooked.”
“So, you’re a bit of an artist?”
“Couldn’t paint a landscape to save my life.”
“Ever tried?”
“I don’t set myself up for failure.” Seemed that monster steer-horn club design was an exception.
“You must have painted when you were a child,” she said.
“I’m not a child anymore.”
But a memory of someone else who’d loved his paint and easel at a young age pushed its way into Daniel’s mind. Clenching his stomach muscles, he embraced the image for just a heartbeat then forced himself to shunt it aside. He kept walking.
“I don’t paint,” he said. “Never will.”
“Not even to make someone you love happy?” she teased.
He answered with the utmost confidence. “Not even then.”
“I’ve tried. Unfortunately I sucked.” Something warm in his chest tugged at her soft laugh. “My dream is to one day own a Monet Water Lilies.” A diamond bracelet glittered in the sun as she wound a long wave behind an ear. “How long have you been working for yourself?”
Daniel shook off the image of Elizabeth looking stunning, standing before a panorama of those famous flowers to reply.
“I started the company five years ago.”
“From what I hear, you’ve certainly come a long way.”
“I put in a lot of hours,” he said, matching his pace to her languid stroll. “I made the right contacts and things came together.”
“You work hard,” she affirmed.
“Always.”
“Ever give yourself time off for good behavior?”
“I treat myself when I’m on location.”
“You mean when you’re away from home. Like now?”
He looked at her twice. Was that a leading note to her voice, or simply wishful thinking on his part? Concentrating on the path ahead, he thought again and laughed at himself. Get it together, Warren. The lady isn’t propositioning you. She’s staying true to her hospitable heritage and being polite.
“Most of my work comes from up north or overseas,” he pointed out.
“You don’t get down this way often?”
“This is the first time I’ve been in the South in over a decade.”
“Then maybe we’ll bump into each other again—” she gifted him a wry smile “—in ten years or so.”
The numbers tallied up in his head. In ten years he’d be forty-five. God willing, his business would still be going strong. But other than that …
Would he still have the same circle of friends? He’d probably still be a bachelor. Fact was he’d never contemplated marriage. After his abomination of an upbringing, he’d go so far as to admit he shuddered at the idea. If a woman he was seeing began to slow down whenever they passed the diamond rings laid out in a jewelry store window, he quit calling. Harsh, perhaps, but necessary. He wasn’t looking for a wife. Didn’t want a family or a son “to follow in my footsteps.” He’d sooner put a gun to his own head.
They arrived at the hotel, the oldest and best respected in Royal, so the maître d’ had told Daniel this morning on his way out. Elizabeth had stopped before a monster of a potted palm, looking like an earthbound angel as a dry breeze combed her long fair hair.
She peered up at the hotel’s stone facade. “Well, this is it.”
He
