don’t we sit down and have some grub to go with our Neil Diamond,” Vince suggested.
Danny pulled out a chair for Jessie, kissing her temple once she was seated. The simple act sent a flush of warmth through her entire body, kicking up the pace of her heartbeat several notches.
“After dinner, we thought we might hit the open seas for a bit if anyone’s interested,” Vince said as two waiters appeared with domed plates they set before each of them.
“Sounds like a plan,” Danny commented.
As the domes lifted, the sweet aroma of the food beneath wafted quickly past Jessie’s nose like a thick ribbon floating on a passing breeze.
“Maple-glazed salmon filets,” the waiter announced. “Asparagus spears and red potato wedges garnished with diced scallions and halved grape tomatoes.”
“Oh, guys,” Jessie whimpered. “This looks amazing.”
“Well, it should,” Vince said. “I’ve been slaving over the stove all afternoon.”
“And by stove,” Steph cut in, “he means phone.”
“Hey, it took a lot of energy and focus to do all this ordering.”
“Cheddar biscuits,” the second waiter added as he placed a metal basket at the center of the table. He’d barely peeled back the linen cloth before Danny reached in and grabbed two biscuits, one for himself and one that he deposited on Jessie’s plate.
“Pace yourself, Danny,” Steph teased. “There’s plenty of food.”
“Sure, but how many cheddar biscuits are there?” Danny followed his reply with a soft moan at first bite, not caring in the least as his dinner companions laughed at him.
A few moments later, as the first guitar chords of a familiar song plucked Jessie’s heart, she turned toward Danny to find his eyes already fixed on her. She knew they shared one train of thought. He’d revealed to her recently that “Something in the Way She Moves” by James Taylor had been their unofficial song—“At least in my mind,” he’d told her—ever since the first time they’d heard it together while riding in his Jeep. Even after the dozen or more times she’d listened to the song since his revelation—analyzing every lyric, imagining his reaction to it—her heart still beat in unison with the rhythm of the song. She wondered if he felt it too, but the fire ablaze in his eyes now told her he shared the same exhilaration at first note. She had to admit—if only to herself—she’d added this particular song to the CD with hope for just such a reaction.
“Pretty song,” she muttered, and Danny grinned.
“Very.”
“Why do I get the feeling we’re missing something here?” Steph interjected, and they peeled their gazes free from each other.
“What do you mean?” Danny asked.
She gripped the edge of the table with both hands and leaned forward, both sides of her mouth lifted into a comical grin. Drawing the words out for dramatic effect, she teased, “Is this a special song for the two of you?”
Jessie felt crimson heat spill over her entire face and neck, averting her eyes to the salmon before her. “It sort of is, yes.”
“Do tell,” Vince said past the mouthful of potatoes.
“It’s just always . . . reminded me of Jessie.”
Vince and Steph looked at each other, back at Jessie and Danny, then back again at each other.
“Danny and Jessie have a song,” Steph said.
“Isn’t that precious?” Vince replied.
“Okay, okay,” Danny exclaimed. “Enough of your nonsense or we may have to start recounting stupid grins of another sort.”
Steph cackled. “He’s right. Let’s quit while we’re ahead.”
“Agreed. Just after I say this—” Vince joked. “I can go grab a pad of paper if anyone has the inclination to doodle anyone else’s name.”
Chapter 4
4
Danny had intended to shower first, but the call of coffee trumped his plan. Instead, he pulled on the jeans still crumpled at the foot of his bed and slipped into a denim shirt he’d left hanging over the top of the bathroom door. He dropped his cell phone into his front pocket, leaving the front unbuttoned and hanging open as he padded in bare feet across the cool floor, kitchen bound.
While the coffee brewed, he rinsed Frank’s empty bowl—more like a trough, really—and ran a clear stream of fresh water into it. The food dish stood vacant as well, and the instant the announcement of kibbles sounded as they tumbled out of the bag to refill it, Frank shoved his way through the king-sized dog door and raced across the floor, leaving two rugs in a heap in the process.
“Morning, buddy. Where you been?”
Frank didn’t waver before diving in to devour his breakfast. When he paused to give his body a thorough shake, the dog doused Danny with a spray of water. “Hey,” Danny exclaimed. “You hit the waves without me?”
Carrying a large mug of coffee with him, Danny headed into the sunroom and pushed open the oak louvered shutters before settling in behind the desk constructed of two colorful surfboards. He opened his laptop to power it up while he enjoyed the day’s first few gulps of hot coffee, and when his phone rang, he fished it out of his pocket to answer. He didn’t recognize the number.
“Callahan.”
“Mr. Callahan,” the very feminine caller greeted him. “Rosemary Stiles from Hollywood Daily.”
Danny sighed, suddenly tasting the bitterness of his morning brew at the back of his throat. “Miss Stiles. I think I made myself clear the last time we—”
“You did, you did,” she interrupted, and the glow of her widening grin could almost be spotted overhead as it pinged off the nearest cell tower. “And I want you to know I heard you. However, there is still so much interest among our readers about you that my editor has asked me to appeal to you one more time. Surely there’s something we can do for you in return for one simple interview?”
He leaned back and propped his feet on the desk, crossing them at the ankles. “Are you familiar with the job of private investigator, Miss Stiles?”
“Please call me Rosemary. And yes, I’ve been acquainted with one or two PIs in my job.”
“Then you’re also aware of the importance of some degree of anonymity. I could hardly go about investigating things if my subjects immediately recognized me as the guy with his mug on the front of the Hollywood Daily. Now could I?”
“I suppose not. But, how about if we—”
“You know, I’ve tried to be as polite about this as possible,” he cut in. He dropped both bare feet to the floor and leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. “But I don’t know how much clearer I can be. I appreciate your interest—or whatever this is—but I really
