Page 6 of Hidden Heart

“I hope you aren’t too impressed. The apartment came fully furnished,” he said by way of explanation. “I couldn’t put two pieces of clothing together properly if I had to, much less decorate an entire apartment.”

“You seem to do a fine job of dressing yourself.” Her cheeks flushed as soon as the words fell from her lips. “I mean you don’t dress unfashionably.” There. Fixed.

“Thanks…I think.” He slipped the oven mitt from his hand, looking beautiful even while standing in the kitchen. His shirt hugged his biceps, but she didn’t think he would be able to find one that didn’t fit him in such a way. The firmness of his stomach could be seen through the front of it. The narrowness of his hips…

She swallowed hard and pushed away from the doorway before her imagination got the best of her. There were a few drawbacks at being skeptical of the opposite sex. Spending nights alone was one of them.

“And you can cook,” she said more to distract herself than to add to the conversation.

“Yes. My mother taught me how to make one really good meal.” He grinned at her as he plated the chicken.

“Would you like some help?” She looked away from his stare. She wasn’t sure why his undivided attention affected her in such a way, but it made her face flush every time.

“Nope. All done. The dining room is right through there.” He pointed to the second door of the kitchen.

“Have a seat in the chair farthest from the kitchen, and I’ll bring in the food. Pour the wine; the bottle is on the table.” His tone succeeded at casual where she’d been faltering, but she sensed a deeper meaning lingered beneath his words.

An open bottle of pinot sat on the table next to an empty wine glass. She refilled her glass and filled the empty one for him, placing it at the end of the table. A second place-setting was at the other end, and she put her wine beside her plate. Sure, the distance wouldn’t get in the way of their ability to talk, but she still found herself a little disappointed she wouldn’t be close to him.

Once she was seated, Royce entered the room with two plates. He placed one before her, and the delicious aroma of lemon chicken floated through the air.

“Thank you for pouring.” He took his seat across the table, shook out the napkin, and draped it over his lap. What would it be like to sit on his lap—to have his arms wrapped around her while she snuggled into his chest? She forced her focus to the meal. Those thoughts would only get her into trouble. She needed to play it safe. Eating should be safe enough.

She watched him begin his meal and followed suit.

“This is wonderful. I haven’t had lemon chicken since I lived at home.”

“You don’t visit home much?” he questioned.

“No.” She shook her head and reached for her wine.

“Why not?”

“No reason to.” She sipped the pinot. “How about you? Any family here? If I remember correctly, you said you were from around here originally.” She turned the topic before he asked any more questions about her family—one of many topics she wanted to avoid. Too much drama and history. She didn’t need to trudge through that mud. Casual. Friendly. Nothing serious. That was the night’s theme.

“My parents both passed away shortly after I moved to New York. They were my only family here. They originally came from Montana, but I never knew any of the relatives they left behind.” He wiped the corner of his mouth with his napkin.

“I’m sorry.”

“About what?” His brow wrinkled.

“Your parents.”

“It was a few years ago. A car accident.” He stabbed a piece of chicken with his fork. “So, your family lives here?”

“Just my mom. She’s about thirty minutes north of the city. My parents are divorced. Dad moved to Ohio with his mistress—now fiancée. My sister married and relocated to Europe. Her husband’s in the military. And my brother took off to California to chase some surfer chick.” She avoided his eyes while handing over the information, unsure why she just broke her own rule. Her father’s infidelity hadn’t just ended his marriage, it had split their family apart. Karen couldn’t get on a plane fast enough, and Robert barely stopped to say goodbye on his way out of town. Jessica’s move to the city had been her escape. Her mother didn’t need her children—having them around her only seemed to worsen her depression over the affair. Constant reminders of the life she’d lost when her husband packed his bags and walked out.

“Do you see your mom often?” he prodded.

“No.” She pushed her food around. “Too busy pining after a love that didn’t last.” The fork pinged against the plate as she dropped it.

“Well,” he sighed heavily, “aren’t we depressing?” He took a swig of wine and grinned. The dimple made its appearance, and she wondered if it would show up on his cheek while kissing.

The idea of his lips pressed against hers made her body react; a familiar tingling in her panties. Shoving the idea of anything more substantial than dinner from her mind, she refocused on his words instead of his lips.

They finished their meal with small talk about upcoming events in the city. She mentioned a few writer groups he might enjoy. His pleasure was expressed with more than a simple grateful grin. Her memory of his original goal of becoming a writer seemed to appeal to him.

“Did you ever dream of being something besides a paralegal?” He picked up his dish and brought it to the kitchen. He nodded to her plate, giving her an unspoken request to follow him.

---