“I’m not …” Her protest dies as our eyes meet. I don’t have to call her a liar again. I can see the admission in her face. She was sure as hell about to run.
“Let’s just start over,” I suggest. “That night was out of the ordinary for both of us. So let’s turn the page. Do this the normal way.”
She frowns. “I don’t do normal very well either.”
“Fine. Normal is overrated anyway. Let’s just not put this in a box at all. We’ll take it one moment at a time, starting with me telling you Merry Christmas.” I brace a hand on the counter beside her, close enough to tease us both with the nearness. “Merry Christmas, Kalli. It’s good to see you again. Do you want another glass of wine? I promise not to surprise you this time.”
She glances toward the door, but she doesn’t make any movement to leave. “I really should go.”
I pause for a few seconds, waiting to see if she’ll do just that. She doesn’t.
“But you don’t want to … do you?” Her pursed lips are the only answer I get. “So stay. One moment at a time. That’s all it has to be,” I tell her. “There goes one. And another. Look at that … nothing disastrous has happened yet.”
She gives a reluctant smile, and when I pick up a new wineglass from the counter and hold it up, she nods. “Just a little.”
I snag a bottle of already open red wine, and pour a little for her. When she reaches out to take it, I ask, “So you’re pretty cautious, huh? Normally.”
I can’t quite decipher her expression as she answers, “Not nearly as cautious as I should be.”
“You and your mystery. If you’re trying to run me off, you’re doing it wrong. I enjoy a puzzle.”
“I am not a puzzle you want to figure out, Wilder.”
“Sorry, I forgot everything else you said once you used my name.”
She sighs, but it’s more playful than genuinely frustrated, and I think I might have finally cracked her. A little anyway.
“So tell me about your friends. They seem like an interesting group. How long have you known them?”
“Not long.”
“One of these days, I’m going to figure out how to get real answers out of you.”
“How’s Gwen?”
“Changing the subject on me.”
“No, you said to start fresh. This is me starting fresh.”
Baby steps.
I shift and lean back against the counter next to her and try not to think about the scant inch between my hip and her thigh.
“She’s good. I did Christmas stuff with her and my mother all day.”
“How was that?” She seems genuinely interested, and I wonder about her family. She’d said that she had sisters, but they were estranged. How long has it been since she’s seen them? Since she’s spent a holiday with them?
“It was pretty good. A little too much tea party for my taste, but I survived.”
She laughs, and I vow to hear that sound as much as possible tonight. “She played with all her new toys for about half an hour each before she lost interest. She ended the night playing with an old hand-me-down toy of mine. I’m not sure why we bother. We could probably just wrap up toys she already has, and she’d be just fine as long as she still got to open the presents.”
“Maybe she liked the old toy because it was yours.”
“Doubtful.”
“Come on. She practically worships you.”
I choke on a laugh. “If you’d seen the fit she threw the other day when I didn’t let her have candy, I guarantee you would think differently.”
“Kids throw fits. It doesn’t matter who’s with them.”
“I’m willing to bet she wouldn’t throw one with you.”
“That’s not fair.”
“What? You don’t count as a normal person? The rules of children throwing fits don’t apply to you?”
Her smile falters just for a moment before she jumps right back into the conversation. “ I just mean … I’m new and different. Once she got used to me, I’m sure she wouldn’t treat me any differently.”
“There’s a way to test that theory, you know.”
She shakes her head and raises her eyebrows in what’s probably a reprimand. It doesn’t do any good though because I like her eyes on me, whatever the reason.
She continues, “All I’m saying is that I’ve seen you two together. That day in the grocery store with the magazine—”
“Oh God. Don’t bring that up. Not my favorite moment … having to explain to her in the car why that particular magazine wasn’t for kids.” I groan.
“She just wanted to be like you. You were reading a magazine, and she wanted one too.”
“Yes, well, I’ve officially given up reading magazines.”
She’s still smiling when she lifts her wine glass to her mouth, and watching her lips part over the rim is definitely one of the sexiest things I’ve ever seen.
“So how did you meet Lennox?”
She tilts her head, as if considering her answer. “Well, I met Jack first.”
Damn. I wish I could rewind and un-ask that question. But clearly I’m a masochist. “How did you meet him?”
“At an art exhibit on campus.”
I can’t resist the urge to pry for more details. “And when was that?”