His lips pursed in humor, and Rori found herself studying their shape—sketching them in her mind. “Sounds very romantic. Very Paper Bag Princess.”
“Paper Bag Princess?” she asked.
He glanced at her, his eyes still smiling seductively. “The children’s book?” He then seemed to catch himself. “You know, the book other kids were learning to read at the same age you were probably learning to translate Greek?”
She appreciated his attempt at humor. “Ah, yes. That Paper Bag Princess.” She would need to look it up later.
“Don’t worry about it. I only know about it because it was my little sister’s favorite when she was a kid.”
“Kris?”
He nodded, looking impressed that she knew her name. “Yeah. She’s a bit of a feminist. Traditional fairy tales of girls waiting around to be saved never really resonated with her.”
“Sounds like your sister and I might have a few things on common.”
Mike smirked. “You do.”
He didn’t elaborate, although Rori suddenly wanted him to. He changed the subject too quickly, though.
“So what were you doing in Thailand? Studying?”
“You could say that,” Rori said, using the passing landscape as an excuse to stop looking at the smiles he kept sending her way. “There is a monastery that allows me to come and participate in their artistic meditative practices. It’s not studying in the traditional sense, but rather a practice in making art without becoming attached to it, since you do not preserve anything after it is completed. It’s good to learn to create without attachment. The monks help me with that.”
That got a slow nod out of Mike, as if he were actually thinking about what she’d said. “So you’re an artist?”
She nodded. “By trade, yes.” It was something she could say when her mother wasn’t around. There were at least a half a dozen things her mom would rather say she was.
“Makes sense,” Mike said, eyes on the road.
“It does?”
“Sure,” he said easily. “In a life of so much structure, art must give you an element of freedom and expression.”
Rori looked at him, surprised to the point of suspicion. How in the world could he know that? “Probably,” she said, even though he’d said it perfectly.
Who was this guy? And when was he going to throw his angle at her? She really needed to shut him down, just to get it out of the way.
For the moment the question was pushed off the table as he pulled into a parking lot for a grocery store and about a dozen other shops. Rori scanned the stores and spotted a bakery.
“Is that the place?” she asked.
“Yep. We’ll head in there first. It’s kind of late in the day, so I’m not sure what their selection will be. Ten minutes might be all the difference.”
Rori nodded as he steered the SUV into a parking place. She didn’t mean to study the play of muscles under his skin as he performed the simple task. It just seemed like the most interesting thing happening at the moment.
“What’s your mom’s favorite?” she asked, trying to distract herself.
“Red velvet,” he said without hesitation. “My sisters-in-law all like chocolate and carrot cake. You get any of those and you’re going to be sitting pretty with them.”
Rori didn’t wait for Mike to open the door for her again once they parked. It would just be too weird. Then again, so was walking into the bakery with him, side by side. Like a couple. Mike didn’t touch her—didn’t even try to, but for some reason that didn’t seem to matter. Rori still felt that people would look at them and see a couple, which was exactly why she wished Luke could be there with them. Then she could slip her hand into his and all of the confusion would go away.
Maybe.
The bakery was clearly a labor of love on part of the owner. Anthropomorphized vinyl cupcakes decorated the walls in a way that was half joyful, half children’s nursery. The art snob in Rori had some choice suggestions, but another part of her understood that moms with children probably frequented the store. Interesting walls were likely a lifesaver against the antics of bored children. All in all, the décor was pretty brilliant. And given the bubbly exuberance of the woman behind the counter, likely a direct reflection of the owner. Whoever she was, she recognized Mike on sight.