“Black’s the only way to drink it.” He actually sounded approving.
To discourage any more approval, remembering his comment about beer the day before, she said, “I don’t like beer in any way, shape or form.”
He raised an eyebrow. “What’s beer got to do with coffee?”
“Nothing much, you ask me,” Vera, the waitress, told him, having arrived unobserved. “You guys ready to order?”
When she’d taken their order and left, David said, “Vera said it all. Beer and coffee, apples and oranges.”
He really did have a habit of picking every comment apart, didn’t he? Two could play that game. “So you decided you weren’t likely to run into me at breakfast since I was obviously a late sleeper.”
“Can’t be right all the time. Figured you didn’t have anything to get up for this morning. Didn’t tie in hunger.”
Something flashed into his eyes as he said the last word, but it was gone before she could be sure what she’d seen. A different kind of hunger? Damn chemistry, anyway—she could feel the tension between them like a palpable chain. He certainly gave off irresistible pheromones. Or was it only females who did that? Looking at him across the table seemed to be turning her brain to mush.
David tried to focus on his coffee, but he couldn’t keep his gaze away from her. Today she wore a skirt and a polo shirt, green like those deep-sea eyes of hers. A bad mistake to come here for breakfast. He should have stayed away. Far away.
No woman had tempted him for more than a second or two since his divorce, but he couldn’t make himself ignore Amy. While any man would give her a second look, this was more than reacting to a pretty face atop a well-built body. He seemed to be drawn to her in a way that scared the hell out of him.
Vera’s arrival with their food was a welcome break. He wondered if it was for Amy, too, since she concentrated on her food and didn’t talk. If she didn’t want to sit with him, why hadn’t she declined his offer to share a table? For that matter, why had he made it? Courtesy? He knew better.
Yeah, Severin, and you know better than to get into a tangle you’ll regret.
He tried to come up with something Cal might say, something that might turn her completely off him, and found all he could think of was that Cal was actually an all-right guy. What he’d been doing was parodying Cal’s speech patterns and making a mockery of the guy’s lifestyle. He scowled.
“Is something wrong with your food?” Amy asked.
He glanced up at her. “Why?”
“You’ve been glaring down at your plate forever.”
“The food’s fine.”
“Oh, then it must be the company you’re annoyed with.”
“I asked for the company, didn’t I?”
She raised her eyebrows. “That doesn’t mean you can’t have regrets.”
“If I’m annoyed at anyone, it’s myself.” He picked up his cup, downed the last drop of coffee and reached for the carafe. “Care for a refill?”
“Just warm it, thanks.” She waited until he poured more coffee into her cup, then said, “Anger’s destructive.”
“So I’ve been told.” By his aunt, more than once in the past year. He poured himself another cupful and took a swallow. Been told that and other cautions he hadn’t wanted to hear. Ethically, Gert wasn’t allowed to psychoanalyze him because he was a relative. Which didn’t prevent her from dropping loaded hints. Or making a yardman out of him, like Amy believed he was. The last thought made him smile.
“That’s better,” she said.
“You catch more flies with honey than vinegar, too,” he deadpanned.
“Always supposing you’re looking to catch flies.” Her words challenged him.
“I’m not looking to catch anything.” He spoke flatly, his gaze crossing hers.
He watched her face turn expressionless, but her tone was light when she said, “And here I felt sure you were a fisherman.”
“Every yardman doesn’t fish.”
He could see he’d managed to offend her. “I was not trying to categorize you,” she snapped.
He glanced at the egg congealing on his plate and knew he couldn’t finish his breakfast. Just as well, because this seemed a good time to split. He flipped a couple of bucks on the table for a tip, rose, nodded to her and walked to the cashier to pay his bill. Not hers, though it might annoy her more if he did. But he figured he’d done enough damage. He was safe. Amy wasn’t likely to give him the time of day again, even if she became a regular patient of his aunt’s. Just the way he wanted it.
Then why didn’t he feel relieved?
Amy watched David leave the hotel, then pushed her plate to one side, her appetite gone. What a boor. Though she hadn’t wanted to explore what might have been between them any more than he did, he didn’t need to be so abrupt. With time maybe they could have managed to become friends.
Friends? Ha. Who was she trying to snow? Hadn’t she learned not to fool herself? If anything had ever been going to happen between her and David, it wouldn’t be friendship. She’d never gone in for brief, hot affairs—like any relationship with him would have been—so it was just as well their acquaintance had ended on a sour note.
She should be glad. She was glad. With luck he’d finish the yard work at Dr. Severin’s quickly and then be out of her life completely. He was as forgettable as any other man.
And if he knew what was good for him, he’d better keep out of her dreams, too.
Chapter Two
C al was unloading a new batch of greenery from the nursery truck when David reached Aunt Gert’s.
“Wanted to be sure you got the rest of the stuff you need early,” Cal said.
“Thanks.” David pitched in to help, thinking again of how he’d used Cal. What he’d done wouldn’t harm Cal in any way, but he was unpleasantly reminded of how Murdock had patronized him last year. In no way, shape or form did he want to be like that bastard.
“The boss says you ever want a job, just ask,” Cal told him when they finished. “He drove by yesterday while you was putting in them shrubs. Said you’re a damn good worker.”
“Tell him I appreciate the compliment.” Which was the truth. Not that he intended to do landscaping for a living.
David watched Cal pull away in the truck. In a way, he envied the man. Cal liked his job and seemed to be satisfied with his life, which was a hell of a lot more than could be said about David Severin. He lived comfortably enough, having been lucky enough to put the money his grandfather had left him in investments that proved both sound and profitable. Still, he was getting restless doing nothing. Aunt Gert had urged him to take both the Nevada bar exams, which he’d passed, but he had no heart for law after what had happened in New Mexico. The truth was, he didn’t know what he wanted to do with the rest of his life.
A few plantings later, his gloomy mood began to lift. Gert was right about hard work in the open air easing depression. He peeled off his T-shirt, hung it on the porch railing and picked up a spirea bush. He’d just finished digging the hole for it when he saw Gert’s car pulling into the drive. She waved at him on her way back to the garage. He dropped the bush into the hole, quickly covered the roots and set aside the spade.
As he walked toward the garage, the overhead door went down and Gert emerged from the side door, carrying a small overnight case.
“You’re home early,” he told her. “Let me take that inside for you.”