Page 28 of The Undercover Billionaire's Baby

“You’re right. This is great. We should eat every meal here.”

“Then it wouldn’t be special.”

“We could vary it up. Pepper steak one night, lobster the next. And the shrimp salad. That lemon-thyme chicken.”

“You’d need to fix up a lot of decks to eat like that.”

Brad paused mid-bite. “Oh, yeah. I forgot.” He looked embarrassed for a moment, then shook it off. “One day, when we’re rich, huh?”

I snorted. “When we’re rich.”

We toasted to that, and dug into our steaks. When the dessert cart rolled round, we were too full for cake, but we both ordered coffee. Brad sipped his and smiled. He leaned back in his chair and surveyed the room, half-empty now, warm with candlelight. The band was still playing and a few couples were dancing, and Brad nodded at them.

“Should we?”

“What, dance?”

“Why not?”

I could think of a few reasons: this wasn’t a date. I’d already made a fool of myself pretending it was, got so lost in my fantasy that I shrieked at the waiter. Also, it was late. We had early mornings. Brad was due down at Rex’s. I had the shop. I had to clear the shelves out for the electrician, and even with Alice’s help?—

“One dance.” Brad stood. He held out his hand. Without thinking, I took it, and he led me to the dance floor. The band was playing some slow song, wistful, romantic. It made me think of summer, and long, warm nights. Brad set one hand on my hip and one on my shoulder. I leaned into him so our cheeks almost touched. Then we were moving, swaying to the beat, the music flowing through us and sweeping us on. Sometimes Brad steered me with the gentlest of pressure, and I trembled all over at his firm touch. I missed a step, dizzy, and leaned my head on his shoulder. It wasn’t the wine — I’d hardly had any. It was the night and the music, the magical lighting, casting a spell on me. Turning my head. Tomorrow, all this would feel like a dream.

Brad looked down at me, smiling. The music had stopped. I tried to breathe normally, but I’d forgotten how. Brad was so close, still holding me gently. What would I do if he bent and kissed me? If he lifted one hand, pressed his thumb to my lips? Parted them, teasing? Caressed my cheek? Then he’d lean in and his lips would brush mine, and a great tide of sparks would go crashing through me, shower after shower of them. Endless fireworks.

“Thank you,” he said. “For a perfect dance.”

Then it was over and he’d pulled back, and he was guiding me back to the table. Was I disappointed, or was I relieved? My chest felt dark, hollow, my head full of fog. I shook it to clear it. Blinked the stars from my eyes. I was relieved. Of course I was. Brad was here for the summer, on a break between jobs. Soon he’d move on, and that would be that. Anything between us would wither away. Falling for Brad could only spell heartbreak.

Still, for that dance, spinning so close — for that dance, for that moment, I’d felt wonderful.

I’d felt like the only woman in the world.

CHAPTER 11

SAM

We were out of milk. Low on cereal, too. I checked the breadbox, down to the dog-ends, and plucked the shopping list off the fridge.

Lana had left at daybreak with Alice, off to the mainland to pick up our flyers. She could’ve had them sent over and saved the trip, but she said she’d rather save on the shipping. I suspected what she really wanted was a day out with Alice. An excuse to just drive and enjoy the fresh air. The two of them had spent days packing up the display floor, loading books into boxes and lugging them out. Some, they’d brought upstairs. Some, Alice was storing. Mrs. Schneiderman had volunteered her attic for the rest. Lana had come home aching from all the stairs, and collapsed into bed too weary for dinner.

I had the day off from Rex’s, waiting for some more lumber, so I scanned through the shopping list, then checked the cupboards. I added a few items we’d be short on soon, then I headed for the market — not the fancy one for the summer crowd, but the one Lana shopped at. They’d have the brands she liked. I’d noted them all. It felt important I did this right.

I picked out her orange juice (store brand, no pulp) and her grapes (red, seedless). Her bread (brown for toasting, white for sandwiches). I was hunting for pasta when I heard my name called.

“Brad? Yoo-hoo, Brad!”

I turned around, smiling. “Oh, hello, Dora.”

“The deck’s looking great,” she said. “What you’ve fixed up so far.”

“Just the side to go now, and the steps around back. Then I’ll be done with all the banging.”

Dora flapped her hand at me. “Never mind the banging. I came down the front steps today and no creak. No wobble. I didn’t fear for my life for the first time in months.”

“Glad to help out.” I pulled my cart toward me, out of the aisle. “Am I in your way?”

“No, not at all.” She plucked a pack of spaghetti, then frowned. Grabbed two more. “The way we go through this stuff, might as well stock up.”

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