was the last time you ate?”
“I had some vegetable—”
He rolled his eyes. “I’m not talking about rabbit food. I’m talking about a hot, fill-up-your-stomach meal.”
Her lips pressed together in a tight line, answering that question well enough.
Nick turned away to search through the pantry closet, hoping he might find something that could be pulled together into the semblance of a meal. But it’d been so long since he’d gone to the grocery store, he knew that nothing short of a miracle could help him now.
“I didn’t come here to eat.” Lucy said, her tone conveying her impatience. “I came to talk to you more in-depth about the twins.”
“A hotshot reporter like you can’t talk and eat at the same time?”
She folded her arms tightly beneath her breasts—and for a moment, Nick was distracted.
“I don’t want to eat.”
Knowing now wasn’t the time to be distracted, Nick dragged his eyes away from Lucy’s chest. “Are you hungry or not?”
She opened her mouth and hesitated, so he took it upon himself to answer for her. “Hell, yes, you’re hungry.”
He brushed past her on his way to the staircase. “Wait here while I get my wallet.”
“But I don’t want—”
“If you want me to talk with you, you’ve got to eat. That’s the deal.”
He was midway up the stairs when he glanced down at her. From this height she looked especially thin and vulnerable.
“Agreed?”
She clenched her jaw stubbornly then finally acquiesced. “Agreed.”
Chapter Three
Lucy had expected Nick to take her to an eating establishment where the menu was bolted to the wall. When they’d dated, he’d had a penchant for mom-and-pop hamburger joints, old-fashioned drive-ins and diners.
He surprised her by driving to a secluded Italian restaurant in the heart of the city. It was located in a renovated warehouse on a block populated by up-scale boutiques and legal offices.
Inside, the atmosphere was quiet and sophisticated. Tables laid with heavy linen cloths were situated in intimate niches lined with potted plants. Muted murals adorned the walls and waiters wearing crisply starched shirts, black vests and ties circulated around the room.
As they stepped through the door, Lucy hung back, feeling decidedly grubby in her timeworn jeans and white button-down shirt.
“What’s the matter?” Nick inquired.
“I’m not dressed for this place,” she whispered.
“You look like you have plenty on to me.”
“But I’m not…fancy enough.”
Nick took her hand and pulled her toward the maître d’. “You’re fine.”
It was obvious that Nick was a regular customer. The maître d’ greeted him effusively and ushered them to a table near the window. Outside, a courtyard garden had been strung with fairy lights and strategically arranged spotlights.
Lucy was entranced. She’d nearly forgotten that there were places like this in the world. Places where people could feel as if they’d stepped into a fantasy.
“Will this be all right?” the maître d’ asked. Nick glanced at Lucy and she nodded.
“Yes, thank you,” he said.
When the man moved toward Lucy, Nick intercepted him to pull out Lucy’s chair. Lucy couldn’t remember the last time she’d been on the receiving end of such gentlemanly courtesy.
“Thanks,” she murmured, sinking onto the cushioned seat and allowing him to push her closer to the table.
Nick’s hand touched her shoulder, his fingers brushing against her hair as he went to his own chair.
Her mood softened even more at the gesture. When Lucy was on assignment, she made sure her gender wasn’t an issue. She carried her own equipment and stoically put up with rough conditions and the lack of privacy. Nevertheless, she couldn’t deny that Nick’s attentions made her feel special.
Feminine.
Alive.
As Nick settled into his place, she grabbed her menu and held it up in front of her, praying he wouldn’t see the moisture that had suddenly gathered in her eyes.
Dear sweet heaven, what was wrong with her? She’d spent most of the day sleeping, so she couldn’t blame her sensitivity on jet lag.
Telling herself she was just feeling stressed, she fastened her attention on the list of appetizers. Even so, she couldn’t seem to control the letters that swam before her eyes.
“Everything here is good,” Nick said, oblivious to her distress. “But if you order a salad, I’ll personally sic the chef on you.”
His comment made her snap out of her thoughts, but she couldn’t afford to speak just yet. Not when her voice might emerge as a croak.
Was it a coincidence that Nick had brought her here? Or had he remembered that Italian food was one of her weaknesses? She loved everything about it—the intoxicating aromas, the combination of spices, the rich sauces, the fresh meats and cheeses.
“Well, what do you think?”
Quickly blinking the last vestiges of tears from her eyes, Lucy focused on her menu. After reading only the first few items, she expelled a sigh of pleasure. “I have died and gone to heaven,” she said under her breath. At that moment, she vowed to stop worrying about the man who sat across from her, the appropriateness of her attire, or her unusual sensitivity. Her only concern would be which delectable concoction she’d taste first.
“If you look near the bottom of the menu, you’ll see they have a sampler of some of the most popular dishes.”
Lucy’s stomach growled in anticipation.
“There’s also soup, a side salad with a house dressing, bread sticks…. Just make sure you leave room for dessert.”
“Dessert?” she breathed, her eyes already scanning the list on the back cover.
“They have a raspberry lemon cheesecake that will make you weep.”
As if you aren’t on the verge of tears already.
By the time the waiter returned to take their orders, Lucy had managed to whittle her choices down to a somewhat manageable size. In the end, she chose a sampler of lasagna with red-pepper noodles, spinach and walnut ravioli in a white sauce and chicken picatta.
Once
