he didn’t believe it.
Certainly he’d never forgotten.
“Then you’re not still mad at me—about what happened that night?” he prompted.
“Nothing happened,” she said again, tearing off another piece of her sandwich. “And I was never mad at you,” she confided. “I was mad at myself. And...embarrassed.”
“Why would you be embarrassed?” he wondered aloud.
She swirled her spoon in her soup. “Because I threw myself at you.”
Apparently they had different recollections of that night. Because while there was no denying that she’d made the first move, he’d made a lot more after that. “As you said, it was a long time ago and nothing happened.”
“Nothing of any significance,” she agreed. “But not for lack of trying on my part.”
It was true that she hadn’t been shy about what she wanted. And he’d been unexpectedly and shockingly aroused by the bold actions of a girl he’d previously dismissed as just another friend of his little sister.
“Back then, you and me—” He shook his head. “It would have been a mistake.”
She nodded. “I know.”
“But now...” He deliberately let the words trail off and dramatically waggled his eyebrows.
She smiled, seemingly appreciative of his effort to lighten the mood, but immediately shot him down. “Now it would be an even bigger mistake.”
She was probably right—for more reasons than even she knew—but he was curious about her rationale. “Why would you say that?”
“Because even if we weren’t friends before, I get the impression you showed up at my door because you need a friend now.”
“Or at least wanted to see a friendly face,” he acknowledged, as he shoved the last bite of sandwich into his mouth before turning his attention back to the soup.
“What was going on at your parents’ place tonight that you didn’t want to eat there?” she asked.
“Celeste had a thing this afternoon—a baby shower? Bridal shower? Some kind of shower, anyway. And I told her that I’d fend for myself so she didn’t have to rush back.”
“Fending for yourself meaning inviting yourself to share my dinner?” she queried dryly.
“I offered to take you out,” he reminded her. “You could have had a thick, juicy steak at Diggers’—or anything else on the menu.”
“Mmm... I do love their strip loin, but this is better,” she told him.
He spooned up the last of his soup which, along with the sandwich, had sated his gnawing hunger but was, by no stretch of the imagination, better than steak. “Why?”
“Because if we’d walked into Diggers’ together, the whole town would be buzzing about it before the meat hit the grill.”
“And that would bother you?”
“I don’t like being the subject of gossip and speculation,” she said.
“You’re not worried that people will remark on my truck being parked outside your apartment?”
“I wasn’t—” she frowned as she stacked the empty bowls and plates “—until just now.”
“I’m sure they have better things to talk about,” he said, attempting to reassure her.
“You’re the closest thing this town has to a celebrity,” she reminded him, as she transferred the dishes and cutlery to the dishwasher. “Everything you do and say is major news.”
“Then the gossips are going to throw a ticker tape parade when they find out about Dani.”
She sent him a quizzical look. “Who’s Dani?”
“My daughter.”
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