“You’re the boss,” he said irreverently. “What do you want to do about the glare from the window by the table?”
“Should I pull the shade?” Sunny asked.
“No. It’ll make a tighter shot if you sit beside, instead of across from Pete.” Meggy maneuvered them into position, changing the place settings as she talked.
“Sunny, hold your goblet in your right hand, rest your elbow on the table and lean toward Pete. Pete, hold—”
“I got it, Meggy,” he interrupted.
“It’ll be over soon,” Sunny whispered.
His rueful smile was endearing. “Sorry about the attitude.”
“Don’t worry about it. I understand.”
“We’re rolling,” Meggy said. “Touch glasses, take a sip, do what comes naturally.”
Pete touched the rim of his goblet to Sunny’s and whispered, “Punching Brad’s face in comes naturally.”
“Let me be the one to do it,” she whispered back.
He grinned and toasted her again.
Her heart did its strange flip-flop just like before.
“Did I see antipasto on the table, Sunny?” Meggy asked.
“Yes. Shall we eat some?”
“You might feed each other a bite or two.”
“I don’t usually finger feed on a first date,” she said, a nervous giggle escaping. Mortified, she covered her mouth, struggling for control.
Pete looked longingly at the door. What if he balked here and now? As long as she’d endured the torture of the TV taping, she’d like to see this through.
Sobering, she said, “You go first. I like those big black olives. Do you want to pop one of them into my mouth?”
He followed her directions to the letter, popping the olive into her mouth with all the aplomb of a guy feeding a heartworm pill to his dog.
“C’mon, Pete,” Meggy complained, “you can do better than that. You’re on a date. Make it look sensual.”
Pete raised an irritated brow. “What do you think?” he murmured. “Should we try it her way?”
“I like black olives so much, I can probably make it ‘look sensual.”’
“Okay, one sensual olive coming your way,” he warned, leaning toward her, teasing her mouth with the olive, outlining her upper lip and tracing the lower lip back and forth before slipping it between her teeth. She bit down slowly, covering his fingers with her lips. Slowly he dragged his fingers away. She had no idea that such a simple thing could be so erotic.
“Whew,” he breathed softly, watching her lips as she slowly chewed. “I like the way you do that.”
“Really,” she murmured. “It didn’t look stupid?”
“Are you kidding?” His eyes glowed with approval.
The approval caught her by surprise. It felt warm, wonderful and better than she could have believed.
It would have to be better still without an audience. She whispered, “Don’t you think we’ve been cooperative long enough?”
Nodding, he stood and said, “You’re through here, aren’t you, Meggy?”
Something unspoken passed between the two. Sunny didn’t understand it, but Meggy quickly agreed and managed to get the crew out within minutes. Whatever it was, it didn’t matter. It was just good to have their audience gone.
Standing next to Pete in the doorway, seeing them off, Sunny felt awkward, almost shy. It was ridiculous, feeling this nervous about being alone with a guy. She was twenty-eight, not sixteen, and it sure didn’t matter if he invited her to the prom.
Pete closed the door and gave her one of those lopsided smiles. “Coach, you were awesome. Poised. Cute. A dream date, for sure.”
It was a line. It had to be, but she didn’t feel nervous anymore. “You were pretty great your-self,” she said, wanting to return the good feeling. “An old pro, in fact.”
“That’s me, all right. An old pro. I can’t wait to see myself on TV.”
The sarcasm surprised her. She must have shown it.
He added, “Well, it’s not like I’m the most photogenic guy in town. I always look awkward in home movies.”
Awkward was not a word she would have used to describe Pete Maguire, not in a million years. “You’ve got to be joking. You couldn’t look bad if you tried.”
He looked at her as if she’d lost her mind.
“Well, you couldn’t,” she insisted.
As quickly as a cloud steals the sun, Pete’s blue eyes dulled. The sadness, the loss in those eyes took her breath away. What was wrong? Was it something she said?
Pete felt like a fool. It wasn’t the first time he’d forgotten the new cheekbones, Roman nose and classic chin. When he looked in a mirror these days, it wasn’t him. Sometimes he felt like an alien the way people treated The Face as if it were real. The few times he tried to explain, he got pity or skepticism. Even worse was the advice he should be grateful.
Why didn’t people understand he wasn’t somebody brand-new just because he looked it? Whoever said what counted was the person inside had never had reconstructive facial surgery. People wouldn’t let you be the person inside. They reacted to what they saw. Or thought they saw.
It was better to live like a hermit, hang out at the beach by himself and get through the days, one at a time, until he got comfortable with all the changes. If he ever did.
He should never have let Meggy talk him into this date.
Determined to escape, but not wanting to hurt Sunny’s feelings—she was too nice a person for that—he said, “Now that the cameras are gone, I should probably head out, too.”
“Head out?” she echoed, her pretty brown eyes perplexed. “You want to leave now? Was it something I said?”
“No!” He didn’t want her to think that. “It’s just… I think I should go. I’m not very good company.”
She shrugged. “You’re a lot better than Brad.”
He liked her quick comeback even if she wasn’t letting him bow out gracefully. “I may be better than Brad, but believe me, you can do better than me—a whole lot better.”
“The audience didn’t seem to think so. What am I supposed to do with all this food?” she asked, her hands on her hips, her stance defiant, as if she were arguing with a ref who’d just called a foul on a good blocked shot. “We’ve got pot roast, Pete, and mashed potatoes with gravy, corn on the cob and the cheesecake. In fact, everything but your mom and her backyard.”
“What would you say if I told you I don’t eat red meat, I hate cheesecake, my mom never cooks and she has no backyard.”
Surprise flared in those butternut eyes, but she quipped, “What would you say if I told you I didn’t cook a speck of this food and, in fact, can’t even boil water?”
He felt the smile break across his face.
“You think that’s funny? We’ll see who’s laughing if you don’t eat this food. My girls will track you down and use that ugly tie you wore on Dream Date to hang you by your neck.”
Maybe he ought to try the pot roast. If Sunny served it, he might even like cheesecake.