In Good Company. Teresa Southwick

made escape with dignity impossible.

      When he started toward her, she knew it was too much to hope that he would simply let her nod politely and continue on her merry way.

      He stopped in front of her. “Hello again.”

      “Hi.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. “What are you doing here?”

      Besides raising her temperature, she thought. It was hot. Normally she froze in the market. But tonight she was warm all over and wondered why the iceberg lettuce wasn’t wilting.

      “I’m here to buy groceries.”

      Well, of course he was. Stupid question. Then another thought popped into her mind.

      “Why this store?” she asked suspiciously.

      One corner of his mouth quirked up. “You mean, am I following you?”

      If only, she thought, followed quickly by God forbid. She didn’t want him following her; she wanted nothing to do with him.

      “Of course not. I just wondered… This is my regular store. I simply meant—” She sighed and let the unfinished thought hang there.

      “As a matter of fact, this is the store closest to my apartment,” he said.

      “You don’t mean the ones on Cooper Street?”

      “The very ones,” he confirmed.

      Her heart sank, hit bottom, then bounced into her throat. That was where her apartment was. Why hadn’t she known he was living there? Surely her overactive heat sensors would have picked up his presence. On the other hand, it was a very large complex.

      “Your regular store,” he repeated. “Do you live nearby, too?”

      “Actually in the same complex on Cooper. That would make us neighbors,” she finished lamely. “So you’re here for groceries.”

      A smile teased the corners of his mouth. “Remind me to watch out for you. Mind like a steel trap.”

      “Oh, knock it off,” she said, annoyed with herself for stating the obvious. Again. At the same time she wanted to laugh.

      “Okay. Yes, I was forced to stop for food because someone refused my dinner invitation.”

      “No,” she answered in mock astonishment. “Who could possibly resist the legendary O’Donnell charm?”

      “You’d be surprised.” Something like anger flashed in his eyes, then almost as quickly disappeared. He grinned, but the effort showed. “Actually, there’s this redhead in town who finds me completely resistible.”

      “Oh?” Her cheeks warmed.

      “Yes.” He made a great show of studying the items in her basket. “Looks like Italian night at your house.”

      She shrugged. “It’s easy.”

      “Not as easy as a restaurant,” he pointed out.

      “True. But much less complicated.”

      “I’m not complicated. I’m the essence of simplicity. In fact, since we’re neighbors, it would be simple for me to drop by and see if you cook as well as you mold the minds of Charity City youth.”

      Simple for him, maybe. Not for her. Sitting across from him at a restaurant would have been high enough on the intimacy scale. But sitting across from him in her apartment would send intimacy into the danger zone. She’d already spent time in that zone. It hadn’t worked for her then, and she had no reason to think anything had changed. And, for crying out loud, hadn’t they already gone through this?

      “Tonight’s not good,” she hedged.

      “Are you cooking for someone else?”

      “No,” she said quickly, then kicked herself. That would have been a good out, but she’d missed it. What was wrong with her? He’d told her she was a knockout. Although her geeky, self-conscious, socially challenged inner child didn’t believe him. What was it about this man that scrambled her thought processes?

      “So you’re doing spaghetti solo because it’s not a good night?” He stuck a hand in the pocket of his battered brown leather jacket.

      “Look, I already told you that—”

      “We talk only on school grounds,” he finished. “Don’t look now, but we’re in the grocery store. And we’re talking.”

      How was she going to get through to him? Scrambled thought processes would be a step up from what her mind was doing. Meltdown would be more accurate. Especially when one took into account the radioactive heat generated by close proximity to Des’s special brand of animal magnetism. But now she had to come up with an excuse to brush him off. And being abrasive didn’t come naturally to her. The tough facade she was putting on wouldn’t hold up much longer because she felt certain even a man like Des had feelings to hurt. So she was reluctant to be so direct again. That was why she said the first thing that came to mind.

      “Dinner isn’t a good idea in a small town like this.”

      “You mean folks in small towns don’t eat an evening meal?” he asked, feigning a completely serious expression.

      The corners of her mouth twitched, but she refused to be amused. From letting him amuse her it was a hop, skip and jump to rekindling her crush. And that wasn’t funny.

      “It’s like this, Des. I’m a teacher—”

      “Teachers don’t eat?”

      “Yes, of course we do. But I’m not comfortable sharing dinner in my apartment with a man. It’s a small town.”

      “So you said.”

      “I’m a teacher,” she said again.

      “And a fine one, too. I could tell.”

      “It’s a recipe for scandal. Everyone talks. The good, bad and ugly spreads like wildfire. I just don’t think I want to go there.”

      “Hmm. Oddly enough, that sounds pretty good to me after the big city where everyone is a stranger and no one gives a damn what anyone else does.”

      The anger flared in his eyes again and Molly wondered about it. What had happened to Des since he’d left town all those years ago? She knew he’d gone to college, but that was all. Abruptly, she put the lid on those thoughts. This was bad. Curiosity about his life was worse than bad. It was downright dangerous.

      “I’ve got to go,” she said.

      Before he could respond, she turned and headed for the cash register to pay for her pathetic dinner. So what if she hadn’t picked up salad fixings? Lack of roughage wasn’t the end of the world, but continued closeness to Des could be. So what if he thought her social skills as backward as they’d been all those years ago? She couldn’t afford to care what he thought.

      Curiosity about him meant that her interest was escalating. She had to nip that in the bud, then ideally work to become indifferent. Soon, she vowed, she would feel nothing for Desmond O’Donnell. No shortness of breath. No heart palpitations. Come to think of it, her symptoms resembled a heart attack—which was exactly what she was trying to avoid. At all costs, she needed to protect her heart.

      When she felt nothing for him, she would be home free. And speaking of home, this town was hers. He’d left, but she’d made her life here.

      She wouldn’t let him waltz in and mess that up. Again.