A Season of Angels Page 0,39

plastic-coated menu tucked behind the silver napkin dispenser.

"I . . . as a matter of fact I am, but . . ."

"The steak sandwich is excellent and they don't do a bad chicken-fried steak."

"I'll just have coffee," she told him. By all that was right she shouldn't be sitting with him. She barely knew the man and what she did know was a cause for a twenty-four-hour prayer vigil.

"Suit yourself."

The waitress came, an older woman with gray hair in a pale pink uniform. She chewed gum and looked more worn than the linoleum in Monica's kitchen.

"I'll have a BLT on wheat, with coffee," Chet ordered.

The waitress wrote down the order and looked to Monica expectantly.

"The same, only put mine on a separate ticket."

The woman left, jotting down Monica's order as she went.

"I saw you outside the Blue Goose," Chet announced casually.

It was all Monica could do not to cover her face with her hands. It mortified her to know he'd seen her standing outside the tavern, debating whether she should go inside or not.

"I know why you were there too."

"You do?" Her rebellious gaze shot to his. She was certain he could see her pulse beating in the vein in her neck, the sound echoing in her ear like thunder.

Chet set the menu back in place and waited for the waitress to finish pouring their coffee before he continued. "You're curious about the same thing as me."

"Which is?"

He smiled without humor, "I don't know if you have enough courage or honesty to admit it so I'll say it. We're both trying to figure out if what happened between us was real."

Monica had entertained a whole spectrum of possibilities of what had happened when Chet had kissed her. She blamed him, then herself, and eventually her upbringing. Having lived a sheltered, protected life hadn't prepared her for the sensual magnetism she experienced at his touch.

"I certainly don't have any intention of allowing you to kiss me again," she told him, the words ringing with disdain. It was important he understood this right now.

"Not to worry, I'm not exactly thrilled with the prospect myself. I'm curious, and you have to admit you are too, otherwise you wouldn't be here. Frankly, I can't figure out what it is about you that intrigues me so much."

"I . . . I was wondering the same thing myself. You won't leave me alone either."

Their sandwiches arrived and Chet tore into his as if he hadn't eaten in a week. Monica glared at him and pointedly reached for her napkin and spread it evenly across her lap. Bowing her head, she murmured a simple prayer of thanksgiving. When she'd finished, she lifted half the sandwich from her plate, holding it daintily in both hands. Chet had started on the second half of his before she'd taken the first bite.

When he finished, Chet reached inside his pocket and brought out a small spiral pad. He flipped through several pages until he found what he was looking for.

"Your father's name is Lloyd Fischer, the Reverend Lloyd Fischer. You're an only child and your mother died when you were in your teens. Currently the church employs you as a full-time secretary. You play the piano on Sunday mornings and teach a Sunday school class. Your two best friends are married and live in another state. It's said that you miss them dearly and write often."

Monica was so shocked it took an effort for her to disguise her distress. "How . . . how do you know all that?"

Chet grinned suspiciously. "I have my ways. I'm a private investigator, remember? Don't tell me you didn't find out what you could about me."

"I most certainly did not." She snapped her mouth closed before she added to the lie. She had looked up his name in the business directory and noted the address. His office was close to the Westlake Mall on First Avenue in a dingy part of town. The mission was situated on the same street and she'd mentally calculated which building was his. She'd looked his name up in the white pages as well and learned that his apartment was in the same building.

"So," he said, pushing the empty plate aside and reaching for his coffee. "Do you have any suggestions?"

"For what?" She wasn't sure where he was leading, but she had no intention of continuing with this farce. Having lunch with him was about as far as she intended to go.

"Figuring out what's going on between us," he said