I have developed a love for science fiction movies and I play tennis with Martin and his wife."
"The Prime Minister?" Willow asked.
"Yes."
"Isn't that a little lopsided?" she asked.
"I drag Cassie with me."
"Cassie?"
"Cassandra," James explained. "She is Larry's sister. She pretends not to mind. If you’re up to it, I would love you to play as my partner one of these days."
"I haven't played tennis in a long time. I'm afraid I wouldn’t be much of a partner."
"It's like riding a bike," James said. "A few balls over the net and you’ll be fine. It’ll come back to you quickly, I’m sure."
"You won't like me when I play," she said in a conspiratorial whisper that only excited the butterflies in his stomach. "I don't play nice."
"Is that in all physical activities?"
"Oh, James," she said lowering her voice. She’d said it in such a manner that he felt warmth spread throughout his lower body. He was grateful he was sitting down. She was definitely flirting with him.
"You are a tease."
"You started it," she countered.
His right hand covered her left. His fingers made gentle lazy circles over the skin. He found it interesting that she always looked directly at him, but she was difficult to read. He couldn’t tell if she was studying his scar or just looking at the man behind the scar. She was definitely not like any other woman he had ever dated. He knew what pity looked like. He knew resignation. He could not find any of those emotions in her eyes. She had a playful smile on her face and he was thoroughly enjoying seeing it directed towards him.
"What are you thinking about?" he asked.
"You," she said without hesitation. "I will admit I did not expect you to be so normal, if that is the correct word. Yet, here you are, like any regular guy."
"I am a regular guy."
"You are anything but," she said removing her hand from his.
Willow did not miss the slight tightening of the smile, the flash of anger which disappeared into disappointment, then resignation. It happened so quickly it was almost as if it were the lights playing on his features. It was her ability to quickly read people and situations that made her good at her job, and perhaps the same reason she was single at twenty eight.
What demons haunt you, James Alexander Monroe, she thought.
"We should clear these dishes," he said looking away from her. "I hope you have room for dessert."
Willow helped him clear the table. She loaded the dishwasher against all protests from him. In another ten minutes the kitchen was clear of all evidence of dinner except for a pot of meat sauce that was cooling on the stove to be later jarred and refrigerated.
She roamed the living room area after he disappeared down the hallway. There were pictures of his family on the wall above the fireplace and on the mantle. There were also pictures of his old army unit, but the only picture she found of him was as a child. The picture was of a pretty blond girl, a dark haired older boy, she assumed was his brother, and a dark haired James staring straight at the camera. Even then he had captivating eyes that seemed to look right through you.
He cleared his throat as he entered the room. Willow turned to look at him.
"You are noticeably absent from this collection," she said.
"I see myself in the mirror every morning," he replied.
"What about before the war?"
"That was a different life."
"I didn't know you had a sister." She pointed to the picture with the three children.
"I didn't. That is Stacey Wagman," he replied.
Willow knew of Stacey Wagman. She was the fiancée he had ditched to go to war. She was the woman he was supposed to marry after the fiasco in Miami.
"You’ve known her for a long time."
"You never really know a person," he said with a note of sadness in his voice. "But we were friends for a long time."
"Do you keep in touch?"
"Yes."
"Is this Larry's father?" She pointed to a picture of an older gentleman dressed in military uniform.
"Yes. He was my commanding officer."
"You knew Larry and Cassandra before going to war?"
"No. I hired them when I got back."
"Oh."
"I'll get dessert and then we can talk more about you and less about me."
He started towards the kitchen and she followed. The fresh scent of coffee percolating teased her nose. He must have done that while she was busy perusing the photos.
"My life is not as