Her expression turned soft and a little dreamy. “You have a point, there. But that’s once you’re a couple. And it’s the same as going to a movie, Max. You don’t have to make conversation.”
“I think all the time we’ve spent together proves I’m capable of having a conversation.”
“Because I’m just me.”
He wondered what she meant by that, exactly. Because she was genuinely so easy to talk to or because he wasn’t trying to have a real, heading-toward-marriage relationship with her?
Their server brought their dinners and, after delivering their plates, brought them drink refills. There was a lull in the conversation as they went through the process of tasting and seasoning their food, for which he was grateful. Tori challenged him and, while he enjoyed it immensely, he could use the short reprieve.
He had to keep reminding himself this wasn’t a real date. It was what he’d like a real date to be—with laughter and banter and that sizzle of attraction—but her purpose in being here was to help him find another woman. It was an odd situation, to say the least.
“This is quite good,” he said after a while. “Though I prefer your cousin’s cooking, to be honest. Gavin, right?”
Her smile was bright and kick-started an ache that had nothing to do with the meal he was eating. “That’s right. And I’m sure he and Paige both would be glad to know you prefer the diner to this place.”
The small talk came easy, then. He asked about Gavin and his culinary aspirations. About how Paige had come to buy the closed-down diner and reopen it. Because there were so many people in Whitford they both knew, but she had more stories about, it was easy to not only get through dinner, but the car ride home, as well.
When he pulled up in front of the bank building, he found himself very reluctant to get out of the car. “I enjoyed tonight.”
“So did I. I think whoever goes out to dinner with you next will have a wonderful time.”
It wouldn’t be her, though. “I think being out with a friend and being out on a first date are two very different things, though.”
“Nola’s lived in Whitford her entire life, you know. You can ask her about her work and what it was like growing up there as a child. You’ll do fine and once the conversation starts rolling, you relax pretty quickly.”
Max wasn’t sure he felt as optimistic as she did. He got out of the car and walked around to open her door. Once again, he took her hand to help her out. He’d never done it for other women in the past, but he liked the feel of her hand in his and the way her fingers squeezed his slightly as she stood.
“It’s good that you have a streetlight here,” he said as they walked toward the door.
“Yeah. I feel pretty safe in Whitford. Especially since the bank keeps a couple of administrative offices on the second floor, so I’m the only tenant. They use the top floor for storage.”
She pulled her keys out of her small black bag, but stopped walking. This was where she’d thank him for dinner and disappear through the door, but he wasn’t ready to leave yet. And if she was going to be his dating coach, they may as well be thorough.
“Is this the part where I’d kiss you good-night?”
Her lips parted and he knew she was probably surprised by the question, but with her face turned up under the streetlight, she looked very much like a woman who should be kissed.
“I...uh, I guess if the date went well and you’re getting that vibe then, yes, this is the part where you’d kiss her good-night.”
“I’m not very good at reading vibes.”
“If she puts her key right in the lock or keeps her hand on the doorknob, so she’s kind of facing away, that would be a no.”
“What about the way you’re standing right now?”
Her keys were still in her hand and she was facing him. She hadn’t even moved closer to the door. When her tongue flicked over her lip, as if her mouth had gone dry, he had to stifle a groan. “I guess...yes. If I was your date and I was standing like this, you could move a little closer. If I didn’t step back or turn away, you could make your move.”
He took a step forward, definitely into her personal space. “Like this much closer?”
She tilted her head back and there was a long moment of eye contact before she ducked her chin and took a step back. The keys in her hand jingled as she grasped the key to the entrance door and shook the others free of it.
“You’re better at this dating thing than you think, Max,” she said, and even he could tell by the breathless quality of her voice that she’d been affected by the moment as strongly as he had. “Thanks for dinner.”
“Thank you for...pretending to be a date.” He said it that way deliberately, knowing it would make her smile and pop the tension that seemed to be hovering between them.
And it worked. “It was a very lovely pretend date, but I have plans for another one before you...ask out Nola. Or whoever.”
That sounded intriguing. “A second date?”
“A second pretend date. Casual this time. With flash cards.”
“Flash cards?” That wasn’t his idea of a second date. “That sounds...adorable.”
“Trust me.” She unlocked the door and pulled it open. “Text me sometime in the next few days and we’ll set up a time.”
“Will I be graded on this activity?”
“Not a letter grade, but if you ace them and they help you have a great date, you might get lucky.”
She was gone before he could respond to that, not that he had any idea what he would have said. But as he walked back to his car, he couldn’t help feeling like he’d gotten lucky earlier, when she smiled at him across the table in the soft candlelight.
Now, looking up to see the light flick on in her apartment window before opening his door, he didn’t feel lucky at all.
Chapter Seven
Tori stared at her computer monitor, idly wondering how to make the horror author’s request for a cover featuring a haunted antebellum home and creepy kudzu on a dark, foggy night look even remotely original.
It was a challenge she was usually particularly good at overcoming, which was why she was in a position to turn away work now. But she was having a little trouble concentrating.
It seemed like every single time she’d closed her eyes last night, she’d seen Max’s face as he’d stared down at her, asking about good-night kisses.
She’d wanted one. And so had he.
That was such a bad idea. She couldn’t even count the reasons she shouldn’t kiss Max.
She had no doubt if she kissed him once, she’d want to kiss him again. Then she’d want to nip at his jawline and unbutton his shirt so she could run her hands over his chest. Then she’d want to get naked.
What she had to remember was that they were wired differently. She could feel a sexual attraction, act on it and then move on with her life when the itch was scratched. Max was on a mission and she suspected he didn’t do detours. If she encouraged whatever it was she’d seen in his eyes last night, he might decide he wanted to date her—and not just in the casual, having sex way—and that wasn’t going to happen.
No more candlelight and wine. No more dresses and makeup. And no more of him walking her to her door.
Her cell phone rang and she picked it up. She’d been waiting all day for Hailey to call, because Tori had no doubt somebody had seen Max pick her up in his car yesterday afternoon, or drop her off, and she would want details. “Hello?”
“So you do know how to answer your phone.”
Tori sighed and dropped her forehead to her hand. Stupid. She should never answer without checking the Caller ID. “Yes, Mom. I know how to use my phone.”
“You never answer when I call.”
“I have it automatically send all of my calls straight to voice mail when I’m working,” she said. It was a small lie, and one she told often.
“Then you work too much. Anyway, I’m calling about Thanksgiving.”
Tori knew where this w
as headed and wanted no part of it. “It’s the middle of October.”
“You know I like to plan ahead. Things fall apart when you leave them to the last minute.”
No, she was calling over a month in advance in the hope of beating Tori’s dad to the punch, which she hadn’t. “I’m going to Uncle Mike and Aunt Jilly’s.”
“Your father said he was going to call you soon to invite you to spend the day with him. Has he called yet?”
One of the many side effects of the divorce was her mother’s seeming inability to say dad anymore, or use the man’s given name. He was always your father, said in a tight voice, as if her mom had a mouthful of dirt and wanted desperately to spit.
“He did invite me,” she said, “and I told him I’m going to Aunt Jilly’s, the same as I’m telling you.”
“You haven’t been home in months, Victoria. This is getting ridiculous.”
“The last time I went home, you complained that I went to Dad’s apartment first and Dad complained I was going to have dinner with you, but only lunch with him. That was ridiculous.”
“I can’t believe your father’s so hung up on which meal you ate with him.”
Almost as hung up as her mother was on who Tori had visited first. “I’m really busy, Mom.”
“Busy right now or busy at Thanksgiving?”
“Both.” And if she wasn’t busy come the end of next month, she’d make something up.
Her mom’s sigh was long and loud over the phone. “Maybe I should call Jilly and see if there’s room at the table for me.”
Tori paused in the act of drumming her fingers on her desk. She hadn’t seen that coming. In this post-divorce maneuvering, her mother was attempting to flank her. “Um...”
“I know the divorce surprised you, but you’re an adult, Victoria, and you really should be over it by now.”
“If age matters, then you should be over it, too.”
She heard her mother’s sharp intake of breath. “Of course I’m over it. Divorcing your father was the best thing I ever did.”
They both claimed to be the one who wanted the divorce, of course. As if there was a blue ribbon for being first. “I’ll think about Thanksgiving, Mom.”
She had no desire to go home, so to speak, for the holiday, but the last thing she wanted to do was bring her mother’s horrible attitude into her aunt Jilly’s home on a day that celebrated family and being thankful. If Tori could keep her mom from getting herself invited to her aunt and uncle’s house until it was close enough to the day so it would be rude to invite herself, maybe Tori could then come down with a mystery illness at the last minute.
And it was ridiculous, at twenty-seven years old, to have to fake being sick to play hooky from a family dinner.
“I’ll make your favorite foods,” her mother said in a much softer tone. “Since I know how to cook them.”
“Mom.” Tori sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “If I go to Portland for Thanksgiving, I’m going to see both of you. You know that.”
“You can have dinner and dessert with me and then stop by his house for coffee on the way out.”
“Please stop dragging me into this. You hate each other. Fine. But you’re both still my parents. You’re being really awful.”
“Fine. Do what you want. But someday when a man you thought loved you treats you the way your father has treated me, we’ll see how your attitude is.”
Not if. When. “I have to go, Mom. I’m filling in at the diner and I have to leave now.”
That was a flat-out lie. She was going to spend the day catching up on design work. And she’d worked up a few ideas for the Northern Star ATV Club’s new design, so she’d send those to Josh. If none worked, she’d have to refer him to somebody else and step out of the project. But what her mother didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.
“Let me know about Thanksgiving.”
Tori promised she would and hung up the phone. She not only set it out of easy reach, but she leaned it up against her printer so she would be able to read the screen from her chair. Her parents were hard enough to deal with when she braced herself for them. No more ambushes.
With the bitter taste of love gone horribly wrong in her mouth and thoughts of Max and kisses chased away, Tori downed a gulp of cold coffee and went back to work.
* * *
By Tuesday, Max was missing Tori. It was probably because he’d spent so much time in her company since the first time he went into the diner, but having no contact with her since dropping her off Saturday night left a void he was antsy to fill.
He’d even caught himself staring off into space, thinking about her, when he was supposed to be researching engine numbers to put on a Santa Fe Railway Prairie class. A little extra time in the shower wasn’t enough to cure his restlessness, either.
She’d told him to text her sometime in “the next few days,” so it was probably time. Not that he was particularly interested in whatever she meant by flash cards, but he wanted to hear her voice.
Or, more accurately he supposed, see the words she typed into her phone. Texting wasn’t the same as a phone call, but he was nothing if not a man who could follow directions.
Because reception could be iffy in the basement, he took the phone upstairs and sat down at the kitchen table.
Hi, Tori. It’s Max.
He scowled, then hit the backspace until it was all erased. It wasn’t necessary to tell her who he was. She’d saved him in her contacts and it would show his name. And if she didn’t have unlimited texting with her cell phone plan, it would be a waste of money.
Are you busy? That was better, so he hit Send.
Not too busy. I got the flash cards done! When are you free?
Anytime, and the sooner the better. The problem with going out and being sociable was feeling isolated if you didn’t go out and socialize. My schedule’s flexible.
This afternoon? Or later?
He’d already given up on working anyway. Sure. Any time you show up is good.
Haha. Would drive you crazy not to have a time. I’ll be there at one.
You caught me. See you at one.
He had over an hour to kill, so he went to his bulletin board to check over his lists. He was on track so far, as usual. He could even check off find a date, although it probably didn’t count.
Not only was it a mock date, but it didn’t get him any closer to the goals he may have crossed off, but still wanted to achieve. A girlfriend to eventually—though not too eventually—become a wife.
By the time Tori arrived, he’d gotten restless enough to venture outside. Raking leaves was a good way to burn off energy and there was certainly no shortage of them. He didn’t have the patience for bagging or burning them, so he usually raked them into the tree line that bordered his lawn. Some drifted back on the breeze, but most didn’t. Good enough.
She got out of her car and leaned against the fender, watching him get rid of the last pile before putting the rake away.
“I guess that’s one good thing about not having a lawn,” she said when he was done. “No mowing or raking leaves.”
“I don’t mind mowing. And some years I just ignore the leaves, but it was too nice to be inside. We won’t have many of these days left.”
“We can sit outside if you want. Enjoy the sun while it lasts.”
It sounded lovely, but he only had two patio chairs and he’d already put them in the shed for the winter. “All I have is the front step or the grass.”
“Let’s sit on the grass.” She walked toward the center of his lawn, where the sun was bright and not shadowed by trees or the house. Before she sat, though, she pulled a short stack of small index cards out of the back pocket of her jeans.
She really hadn’t been kidding. “Let me just grab a couple of waters.”
Max couldn’t remember the last time he’d sat on the grass—probably when he was a kid—but it wasn’t so bad. It probably wouldn’t be comfortable for long, but being outside wa
s nice.
“You ready for this?” She fanned the index cards, the same smile she’d given his cell phone camera lighting up her face.
“What are we doing?”
“I have here a variety of random interests. You’re going to ask me what I like to do in my free time and I’m going to pick one. And you’re going to practice being interested in my hobbies until you can converse about them without straightening the silverware or staring off at the wall sconces.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope.” She leaned forward so she could put her hand on his arm. She did that a lot, he realized. And he liked it. “I know it sounds weird, Max, but I think it’ll help. If nothing else, it’ll force you to be aware of how you respond in a conversation.”
He wasn’t sure it would help, but it would keep them outside on the grass in the sunshine for a while longer. “Let’s do it.”
* * *
“I like to play Bingo.”
He didn’t even hesitate. “That’s wonderful. How many cats do you have?”
“Max!” Tori threw the index card at him, trying not to laugh. “No.”
“I was quick, though. No awkward pauses this time. Okay, next.”
She pulled a card out of the stack. They’d been at it awhile and the pile was getting thin. “Gardening.”
“Flowers or vegetables?”
“That’s a good question. Flowers.”
He nodded. “Are you more partial to annuals or perennials? Do you grow them from seed or buy them from nurseries? Do you make an effort to attract hummingbirds or butterflies?”
“Perfect.” She turned the card over, since there were multiple words on each. “Though not all the questions at once. Ask one, then let her talk. If necessary, ask another. Knitting.”
“My grandmother knits. When I was young she made me hold my arms out so she could wind her yarn around them.” When she nodded, he gave her a cocky look. “I’m much better at small talk than I thought I was.”
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