I’m not sure you should.”
* * *
Melanie was feeling confident and in control when they sat down to lunch at a small café in the center of town. She was finally making progress. Maybe coming all the way down here hadn’t been such a harebrained idea, after all. If she’d done this well before the man had even eaten, just think what she could accomplish once a crab-cake sandwich, some coleslaw and homemade apple cobbler with ice cream had improved his mood.
He gave her an odd look as she ordered the hearty lunch, then chuckled. “Trying to ply me with food, so I’ll be in a more receptive frame of mind?”
“It did occur to me,” she said. “Of course, you don’t have to have what I’m having. And lunch is on me, by the way. I’m wooing a prospective client.”
“I’m buying,” he contradicted for the waitress’s benefit. “As for the meal, I have to have what you’re having if I expect to have the energy to keep up with you.” He gave the amused waitress a conspiratorial wink. “Same thing for me, along with the strongest coffee you have.”
The older woman grinned. “Honey, we don’t serve it any other way.”
“Too bad you’re not running for office here,” Melanie said when the woman had gone to place their order. “You’d have her vote locked up.”
Richard sighed. “It’s not supposed to be about charisma.”
“It’s not supposed to be, but it is, at least in part,” she argued. “A dull man with a good message can get elected—it’s just harder. You have both. Why not capitalize on it, instead of pretending that one thing doesn’t matter?”
“In other words, I’m not going to get out of kissing babies and shaking hands,” he said.
“Few politicians get elected without doing both,” she said. “People want to see that the man they’re electing is real, that he’s human. They like to look him in the eye and gauge for themselves whether he’s honest. They like to know that his handshake’s firm.”
Funny thing about that, Richard thought, falling silent. More than once he’d been accused of not being human—by competitors faced with his hard, cold stare during negotiations, by women who’d hoped for more from their relationship. He’d come to accept that there was something missing inside him, some connection he’d lost when his parents had died. Once, he’d despaired of ever getting that piece of himself back, but now, looking at Melanie, feeling her vitality and warmth touching him, he had a feeling he might be able to get it if only he reached out.
Then he immediately shook off the fanciful notion. Melanie was here for one reason and one reason only, to strike a deal with him. Not to heal him. Like so many others, she simply wanted something from him. He didn’t dare lose sight of that, despite the fact that he’d managed to veer her away from her mission on more than one occasion since her arrival.
Her fingers skimmed lightly across the back of his hand, startling him.
“Hey,” she said softly, her expression puzzled, “where’d you go?”
“Back to reality,” he said grimly.
Before she could ask the question that was so obviously on the tip of her tongue, their lunches came. Richard had never been so relieved by the sight of food in his life. He bit into his crab-cake sandwich with enthusiasm, but noted that it was some time before Melanie finally picked hers up, as if she couldn’t quite get past his sudden shift of mood and all the questions it raised.
Once she’d tasted the crab cake, though, her attention was totally focused on the sandwich. “Terrific crab, don’t you think?”
He nodded. “Even out of season and frozen, it’s delicious. Better than any I’ve had at some of the finest seafood places in Washington.”
“Wonder what that spice is?” she mused, taking another taste. “It gives it a little kick.”
“Given your avowed inability to cook, what difference does it make?”
“For something this good, I could learn,” she insisted. “I’m not totally hopeless.”
“Why bother, when you can just come here?”
“It’s not like I get down this way all the time,” she said. “In fact, I’ve never been to this part of Virginia before.”
“Now that you know about the crab cakes, I’ll bet you’ll be back,” he said. “Who knows, maybe I’ll even invite you.”
“I could probably starve before that happens,” she said. “Maybe they’d ship them up to me. Even I could be trusted to cook them, if they’re already prepared.” Her expression turned wistful. “It would be so nice not to eat every meal out, at least if I want anything edible. Nuking a frozen dinner doesn’t do it for me, except in an emergency.”
Richard could relate to that. He ate far too many of his own meals at his desk or in restaurants, except on those occasions when Destiny commanded his presence at her table. She was an excellent cook, when she took the time to do it, and it had spoiled him for anything less than the best. The conversation around her table was also lively and challenging, even when it was a simple family meal with his two brothers. They didn’t get together for those meals nearly often enough anymore. He needed to change that.
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