Page 48 of Courting Catherine
“Sounds fine.” His radio was on a classical station. Not her usual style, she thought. But it wasn’t a usual night. C.C. settled back and prepared to enjoy the ride. “Have you heard that rattle again?”
“What rattle?”
“The one you asked me to fix yesterday.”
“Oh, that rattle.” He smiled to himself. “No. It must have been my imagination.” When she crossed her legs, his fingers tightened on the wheel. “You never told me why you decided to be a mechanic.”
“Because I’m good at it.” She shifted in her seat to face him. He caught a drift of honeysuckle and nearly groaned. “When I was six, I took apart our lawn mower’s engine, to see how it worked. I was hooked. Why did you go into hotels?”
“It was expected of me.” He stopped, surprised that that had been the first answer out of his mouth. “And I suppose I got good at it.”
“Do you like it?”
Had anyone ever asked him that before? he wondered. Had he ever asked himself? “Yes, I guess I do.”
“Guess?” Her brows lifted into her bangs. “I thought you were sure of everything.”
He glanced at her again and nearly ran off the road. “Apparently not.”
When they arrived at the waterfront restaurant, he was used to the transformation. Or thought he was. Then he went around to open the car door for her. She slid out, rose up. They were eye to eye, barely a whisper apart. C.C. held her ground, wondering if he could hear the way her heart was pounding against her ribs.
“Are you sure nothing’s wrong?”
“No, I’m not sure.” No one, he was certain, this impossibly sexy was meant to be resisted. He cupped a hand at the back of her neck. “Let me check.”
She eased away the instant before his lips brushed hers. “This isn’t a date, remember? Just a friendly dinner.”
“I’d like to change the rules.”
“Too late.” She smiled and offered a hand. “I’m hungry.”
“You’re not the only one,” he murmured, and took her inside.
He wasn’t sure how to handle her. The smooth moves he’d always taken for granted seemed rusty. The setting was perfect, the little table beside the window with water lapping just outside. As the sun set away in the west, it deepened and tinted the bay. He ordered wine as she picked up her menu and smiled at him.
Under the table, C.C. gently eased out of her shoes. “I haven’t been here before,” she told him. “It’s very nice.”
“I can’t guarantee the food will be as exceptional as your aunt’s.”
“No one cooks like Aunt Coco. She’ll be sorry to see you go. She likes cooking for a man.”
“Will you?”
“Will I what?”
“Be sorry to see me go.”
C.C. looked down at the menu, trying to concentrate on her choices. The hard fact was, she had none. “Since you’re still here, we’ll have to see. I imagine you have a lot to catch up on in Boston.”
“Yes, I do. I’ve been thinking that after I do, I may take a vacation. A real one. Bar Harbor might be a good choice.”
She looked up, then away. “Thousands think so,” she murmured, relieved when the waiter served the wine.
“If you could go anywhere you liked, where would it be?”
“That’s a tough question, since I haven’t been anywhere.” She sipped, found the wine as smooth as chilled silk on her tongue. “Somewhere where I could see the sun set on the water, I think. Someplace warm.” She shrugged. “I suppose I should have said Paris or London.”
“No.” He laid a hand on hers. “Catherine—”
