Mrs. Miracle Page 0,28

chatted like longtime friends. Rarely had Reba felt more at ease with a man, especially one she barely knew.

"I understand you met the twins," he commented. "My twins, Judd and Jason."

"Wednesday night." Her first night working with the children for the Christmas pageant.

"Jason's actually glad to play the role of an angel." The two boys struggled to be different from each other, seek their own identity.

Reba grinned. The six-year-old's animated face had sprung to life with delight. "Judd wasn't nearly as keen on the idea," she said, hiding a smile. It'd been easy to read the first-grader's thoughts. He'd wanted to play a Roman soldier and carry a spear and shield. Instead he'd be flapping a pair of aluminum wings and a tinsel-wrapped halo. To be fair, she didn't blame the lad, but the older boys had dibs on the more masculine roles.

"He's adjusting," Seth assured her. He looked away from the road long enough to smile at her. "That's quite a project you've taken on."

She was only beginning to understand how large the task was going to be. "Practice went well, and several adults volunteered to lend a hand."

"I'll help too if you find you need it."

"Thanks, I just might take you up on that." The inside of the car was warm and cozy. Warm and intimate. Comfortable in a way that was foreign to her. Since breaking her engagement with John, Reba had felt uneasy with men. Oh, she'd dated, but she'd never allowed a relationship to grow serious. Generally, after a few times out, she found a convenient excuse to call it quits. Counseling probably would have helped her face her fears, but in seeking professional assistance, she'd have to confront far more than her reluctance to enter into another relationship. A trained professional would soon root out the heart of the matter, and she'd be forced to peel back the wound of betrayal and talk about what had happened with John and Vicki.

Reba couldn't bear it. Not with a stranger. Not with anyone. She wanted to think it would be different with Seth, but it was too soon to know.

The restaurant was perfect. Romantic, exotic. Fun. They removed their shoes and were seated at a low-lying table, the seats padded with large satin pillows propped against the wall. The waitress, a beautiful, unbelievably small Asian woman, filled the gold-edged china cups with fragrant tea and left them to read over the menu.

"Everything looks wonderful."

"I'm partial to anything with peanut sauce," Seth said.

"Me too."

Their eyes met and held, and some unfathomable emotion flickered between them, as though this one small detail were crammed with incredible meaning.

Reba discovered her appreciation of Thai food wasn't the only thing they had in common. With every subject introduced they uncovered a link in one form or another. For years she had been a Seahawks fan. Seth loved football, too.

She adored Steve Martini courtroom dramas. Seth had devoured every one of his books and considered him as fine a writer as Grisham.

She collected stamps and had from the time she was in high school. Seth's collection dated back to his grandfather.

Reba barely noticed when their food arrived. Although every bite was delicious, she found it to be something of a distraction. She could have talked to him all night.

"This is almost spooky," she said as she piled steaming rice onto her plate. "The next thing I know you're going to tell me that you play the piano as well." She'd taken lessons for six years and loved to sit down even now and pound out her favorite songs.

"I do." His eyes crinkled with silent laughter; then abruptly it faded. "Or I did at one time...years ago. I haven't touched a piano in quite some time." This last bit was mumbled almost as if he didn't want her to hear.

"It's easy to get out of practice."

"I haven't played since Pam died." He watched her as he spoke, as if he expected her to tell him it was pointless to deny himself that one small pleasure. She didn't.

"People don't understand why. Most people," he amended.

"You don't need to explain it to me."

"I want to," he said, his eyes solemn. "I suspect I need to." His shoulders tightened as he leaned against the pillows, and he paused as though needing time to formulate his thoughts. "The piano was something we shared. Pamela loved to hear me play. She loved music. She'd lie down and close her eyes and...I can't explain it, not with words. It