mother?”
“I was taken from my mother when I was three. I don’t remember her. In America, when a child has no home, he or she is placed with a family who has agreed to raise her.” She sucked in a breath and took the wineglass he offered her. “Foster parents aren’t required to keep you forever. So if something happens, they can give you back.”
She tried to calmly give the explanation but the slight wobble of her voice when she said “give you back” caused the knot of tension to reform in Rafe’s stomach. He imagined a little blue-eyed, blonde girl bouncing from home to home, hugging a scraggly brown teddy bear, and his throwaway comment about her not being wanted made his heart hurt.
“I’m sorry.”
She sipped her wine. “And right about now, I’m feeling pretty stupid. You’re a grouch. A perfectionist who yells at everyone. I should have realized you were venting.” She met his gaze. “I’m the one who should be sorry.”
“You do realize you just called me a grouch.”
She took another sip of her wine. “And a perfectionist.” She caught his gaze again. “See? You don’t get offended.”
He laughed.
She smiled.
Longing filled Rafe. For years he’d satisfied himself with one-night stands, but she made him yearn for the connection he’d had only once before. With her he wasn’t Chef Rafe. She didn’t treat him like a boss. She didn’t talk to him like a boss...
Maybe because she had these feelings, too?
He sucked in a breath, met her gaze. “Tell me more.”
“About my life?”
“About anything.”
* * *
She set down her wineglass as little pinpricks of awareness sprung up on her arms.
She hadn’t realized how much she’d longed for his apology until he’d made it. But now that he was asking to hear about her life, everything inside her stilled. How much to tell? How much to hold back? Why did he want to know? And why did she ache to tell him?
He offered his hand again and she glanced into his face. The lines and planes of his chin and cheeks made him classically handsome. His sexy unbound hair brought out urges in her she hadn’t ever felt. She’d love to run her fingers through it while kissing him. Love to know what it would feel like to have his hair tumble to his face while they made love.
She stopped her thoughts. She had an almost fiancé at home, and Rafe wasn’t the most sympathetic man in the world. He was bold and gruff, and he accepted no less than total honesty.
But maybe that’s what appealed to her? She didn’t want sympathy. She just wanted to talk to someone. To really be heard. To be understood.
“I had a good childhood,” he said, breaking the awkward silence, again nudging his hand toward her.
She didn’t take his hand, so he used it to inch her wine closer. She picked it up again.
“Even as a boy, I was fascinated by cooking.”
She laughed, wondering why the hell she was tempting fate by sitting here with him when she should leave. She might not be engaged but she was close enough. And though she’d love to kiss Rafe, to run her fingers through that wild hair, Paul was stability. And she needed stability.
“My parents were initially put off, but because I also played soccer and roughhoused with my younger brother, they weren’t worried.”
She laughed again. He’d stopped trying to take her hand. And he really did seem to want to talk. “You make your childhood sound wonderful.”
He winced. “Not intentionally.”
“You don’t have to worry about offending me. I don’t get jealous of others’ good lives. Once Rosa took me in, I had a good life.”
“How old were you?”
“Sixteen.”
“She was brave.”
“Speaking from experience?”
“Let’s just say I had a wild streak.”
Looking at his hair, which curled haphazardly and made his gray eyes appear shiny and mysterious, Dani didn’t doubt he had lots of women who’d helped his wild streak along.
Still, she ignored the potential to tease, to flirt, and said, “Rosa really was brave. I wasn’t so much of a handful because I got into trouble, but because I was lost.”
“You seem a little lost now, too.”
Drat. She hadn’t told him any of this for sympathy. She was just trying to keep the conversation innocent. “Seriously. You’re not going to feel sorry for me, are you?”
“Not even a little bit. If you’re lost now, it’s your own doing. Something you need to fix yourself.”
“That’s exactly what I believe!”
He toasted. “To us. Two just slightly off-kilter people who make our own way.”
She clinked her glass to his before taking another sip of wine. They finished their drinks in silence, which began to feel uncomfortable. If she were free, she probably would be flirting right now. But she wasn’t.
Grabbing her jacket and purse, she rose from her seat. “I guess I should get going.”
He rose, too. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
Her heart kicked against her ribs. The vision of a good-night kiss formed in her brain. The knowledge that she’d be a cheat almost choked her. “There’s no reason.”
“I know. I know. It’s a very peaceful little town. No reason to worry.” He smiled. “Still, I’ve never let a woman walk to her car alone after dark.”
Because that made sense, she said, “Okay.” Side by side they ambled up the sidewalk to the old, battered green car Louisa had lent her.
When they reached it, she turned to him with a smile. “Thank you for listening to me. I actually feel better.”
“Thank you for talking to me. Though I don’t mind a little turmoil in the restaurant, I don’t want real trouble.”
She smiled up at him, caught the gaze of his pretty gray eyes, and felt a connection that warmed her. She didn’t often tell anyone the story of her life, but he had really listened. Genuinely cared.
“So you’re saying yelling is your way of creating the kind of chaos you want?”
“You make me sound like a control freak.”
“You are.”
He laughed. “I know.”
