Page 73 of Wrecked
Stepping out, she hoisted the shoulder bag strap into place and met Leclair at the back of the SUV.
“Let’s sit outside.” He hadn’t demanded that, just put it to her in a reasonable tone.
“Sure. I need fresh air, too.” She gave him a little smile. A part of her that still felt normal wanted him to see her as a nice person despite how she’d strong-armed him here.
She’d wanted to believe anyone else would do the same thing if they stood in her shoes, but she doubted Leclair would.
He would not have dragged someone else into his mess.
Reading the signs on the outside, he said, “Chicken and vegetables look to be their bestsellers. Can your palate handle that?”
She’d have taken fault with his question if he hadn’t winked again and smiled, throwing her out of step. “What makes you think I don’t eat that and pizza all the time?”
“’Cause you have a tiny British accent buried underneath your speech. It’s why I’m thinking you might live in the UK and have been trained by someone in a British alphabet group.”
Her jaw dropped. No one had ever caught any hint of a British accent when she was in this country. No one.
“Close your mouth unless you’re catching flies.” He chuckled and headed inside.
“Wait.” She started digging into her purse. “I’ve got a credit card for this.”
“You get the next one.” He disappeared inside.
He was buying her food.
The man she’d coerced into joining her to rescue Phoebe was buying her a meal. She did not understand Leclair.
No man had bought her a meal since ... the last time Coop had. He’d treated her to meals as a friend would. They never dated.
Why did this ridiculous stop off the interstate feel like a date?
Because Leclair was treating her to a meal.
Incandescent bulbs strung around a roof over the ten-foot-deep porch offered a festive look to the brick building. The area was not a raised deck. Just a wooden platform with a picnic table on each side of a battered screened door entrance. The temperature had started to cool with the clouds coming in to dim the sunset.
She leaned on a picnic table reading what others had carved into the weathered wood.
Names of who had been there. Memories for people who lived an everyday life. They might have big families filled with love.
Sure, not everyone, but it made her happy to think of couples who sat here sharing their dreams.
Having tables out here was probably a sign of the business this restaurant did, meaning the food was good. They’d stopped just in time. It would close in thirty minutes.
She walked around, stretching her legs until Leclair came out carrying two trays and grinning.
Taking in a deep breath, she fought not to drool.“Smells delicious.”
“Little dive like this has to be top-notch to make it out here.” He sat her tray on the street side and his where his back would be to the wall of the restaurant like a gunslinger of the old days.
She smirked at the image of him dressed up in cowboy boots, a Stetson, and wearing a holster sporting twin six-shooters.
Busy pulling his plastic utensils out of a paper sleeve, he paused to stare at her.
“What?” She’d settled across from him and had the urge to look down and see if her blouse had come open. He had a habit of making her question herself every time he did that.
“You’re damn pretty when you smile.” He went back to attacking his meal and shrugged. “I mean you know you’re good-looking and all but smiling really makes a woman memorable.”
She had just poked her fork into green beans and forgot how to eat. He handed out that compliment as if she deserved it when they both knew she didn’t. She might want to be a good person but blackmailing still hung over her head.
