Not yet, an inner voice informed him cheerfully.
Not ever, he informed the inner voice with no cheer at all. He was not touching that food with its potential to weaken him even further. And no more wine.
“People like me,” he said, forcing a cavalier ease into his voice.
She leaned toward him.
“We don’t have hearts to break. I’m leaving now.” Still, he did not move.
She looked as if she wanted to argue with that, but she took one look at his face and very wisely turned her attention to the chicken. “Is this burned?” she asked, poking one of the pieces gingerly with her fingertip.
“I think it’s jerked, a very famous way of cooking on these islands.” It felt like a relief to focus on the chicken instead of what was going on inside himself.
She took a piece and nibbled it. Her expression changed to one of complete awe. “You have to try it,” she insisted. “You have to try it and tell me if it isn’t the best thing you have ever tasted. Just one bite before you go.”
Despite knowing this food probably had a spell woven right into it, he threw caution to the wind, picked up a leg of chicken and chomped into it. Just a few hours ago it definitely would have been the best thing he had ever tasted. But now that he was under a spell, he saw things differently.
Because the blackened jerk chicken quite possibly might have been the best thing he’d ever tasted, if he hadn’t very foolishly sampled her lips when she had offered them yesterday afternoon.
“You might as well stay and eat,” she said. She reached over and refilled his empty wineglass. “It would be a shame to let it go to waste.”
He was not staying here, eating enchanted food in an enchanted cove with a woman who was clearly putting a spell on him. On the other hand, she was right. It would be a shame to let the food go to waste.
There was no such thing as spells, anyway. He picked up his second piece of chicken. He watched her delicately lick her fingertips.
“We don’t have this kind of food in Moose Run,” she said. “More’s the pity.”
“What kind of food do you have?” He was just being polite, he told himself, before he left her. He frowned. That second glass of wine could not be gone.
“We have two restaurants. We have the Main Street Diner which specializes in half-pound hamburgers and claims to have the best chocolate milk shake in all of Michigan.”
“Claims?”
“I haven’t tried all the chocolate milk shakes in Michigan,” she said. “But believe me, I’m working on it.”
He felt something relax within him. He should not be relaxing. He needed to keep his guard up. Still, he laughed at her earnest expression.
“And then we have Mr. Wang’s All-You-Can-Eat Spectacular Smorgasbord.”
“So, two restaurants. What else do you do for fun?”
She looked uncomfortable. It was none of his business, he told himself firmly. Why did he care if it was just as he’d suspected? She did not have nearly enough fun going on in her life. Not that it was any concern of his.
“Is there a movie theater?” he coaxed her.
“Yes. And don’t forget the church picnic.”
“And dancing on the grass,” he supplied.
“I’m not much for the church socials, actually. I don’t really like dancing.”
“So what do you like?”
She hesitated, and then met his eyes. “I’m sure you are going to think I am the world’s most boring person, but you know what I really do for fun?”
He felt as if he was holding his breath for some reason. Crazy to hope the answer was going to involve kissing. Not that anyone would consider that boring, would they? Was his wineglass full again? He took a sip.
“I read,” she said, in a hushed whisper, as if she was in a confessional. She sighed. “I love to read.”
What a relief! Reading, not kissing! It should have seemed faintly pathetic, but somehow, just like the rest of her, it seemed real. In an amusement park world where everyone was demanding to be entertained constantly, by bigger things and better amusements and wilder rides and greater spectacles, by things that stretched the bounds of what humans were intended to do, it seemed lovely that Becky had her own way of being in the world, and that something so simple as opening a book could make someone contented.
She was bracing herself, as if she expected him to be scornful. It made him wonder if the ex-beau had been one of those put-down kind of guys.
“I can actually picture you out in a hammock on a sunny afternoon,” he said. “It sounds surprisingly nice.”
“At this time of year, it’s a favorite chair. On my front porch. We still have front porches in Moose Run.”
He could picture a deeply shaded porch, and a sleepy street, and hear the sound of birds. This, too, struck him as deliciously simple in a complicated world. “What’s your favorite book?” he asked.
“I have to pick one?” she asked with mock horror.
“Let me put it differently. If you had to recommend a book to someone who hardly ever reads, which one would it be?”
And somehow it was that easy. The food was disappearing and so was the wine, and she was telling him about her favorite books and authors, and he was telling her about surfing the big waves and riding his motorbike on the Pacific Coast Highway between LA and San Francisco.
The fight seemed to ease out of him, and the wariness. The urgent need to be somewhere else seemed silly. Drew felt himself relaxing. Why not enjoy it? It was no big deal. Tomorrow his crew would be here. He would immerse himself in his work. He could enjoy this last evening with Becky before that happened, couldn’t he?
* * *
Who would have ever guessed it would be so easy to be with a man like this? Becky thought. The conversation was comfortable between them. There was so much work that needed to be done on Allie’s wedding, and she had already lost a precious day. Still, she had never felt less inclined to do work.
But as comfortable as it all was, she could feel a little nudge of disappointment. How could they go from that electrifying kiss, to this?
Not that she wanted the danger of that kiss again, but she certainly didn’t want him to think she was a dull small-town girl whose idea of an exciting evening was sitting out on her front porch reading until the fireflies came out.
Dinner was done. The wine bottle was lying on its side, empty. All that was left of the chicken was bones, and all that was left of the croissants were a few golden crumbs. As she watched, Drew picked one of those up on his fingertip and popped it in his mouth.
How could such a small thing be so darned sexy?
In her long pants and long-sleeved shirt, Becky was suddenly aware of feeling way too warm. And overdressed. She was aware of being caught in the enchantment of Sainte Simone and this beautiful beach. She longed to be free of encumbrances.
Like clothing? she asked herself, appalled, but not appalled enough to stop the next words that came out of her mouth.
“Let’s go for that swim after all,” she said. She tried to sound casual, but her heart felt as if she had just finished running a marathon.
“I really need to go.” He said it without any kind of conviction. “Are you going to swim in nature’s bathing suit?”
“Don’t be a pervert!”
“I’m not.