Once Upon a Date - Susan Hatler Page 0,27

was frequently reminded of.”

It was Brooks’ turn to hold my hand. “I’m sorry,” he said, echoing my own words. “I had no idea. You always told me you had a really happy home life. I had actually envied you since my dad died when I was young and then my mom took off with another man, leaving me to be raised by my grandparents.”

“I know that was hard for you.”

“That’s life,” he said, giving a shrug. “But your family always seemed so together.”

I shook my head. “That’s the image they wanted everyone to see, but it was all for show. Behind closed doors it was argument after argument with no end in sight.”

“So, you escaped with your stories?”

I nodded. “Yep, I wrote happy-ever-afters, because they were the only ones I could count on, the made up ones. Although I did think you and I would . . .” I gestured toward Brooks and then back at myself. “I thought we would make our own fairy-tale ending.”

His face fell. “Oh, Michelle. I am so sorry, I just . . .” He stopped, obviously not wanting to finish whatever it was he had started to say.

He took the spoon out of my hand, began stirring my soup, and then he nodded at my bowl. I was lost in thought but followed his gaze. Floating on the top of my soup were three little words.

“Please be wine?” I asked.

He looked down at the floating letters and laughed. “The ‘M’ must have turned upside down. It was meant to be romantic.”

I took the spoon and maneuvered a few letters of my own.

“Ox?” he asked.

I frowned, and laughed too. “Ok. It was supposed to say ‘ok’.”

He took my hand. “I know. I’m only teasing.”

I smiled, looking into his beautiful eyes and the years fell away. As he leaned toward me, I closed my eyes and the familiar feeling of his lips on mine made my heart flutter. The kiss lasted for what seemed like forever, and yet was over too soon. When he finally pulled back his eyes seemed to have changed color, so deep and full. Without saying a word he moved his chair around to my side of the table and kissed me again, his right hand caressing my cheek.

“I’ve missed you, Michelle.” His lips brushed mine as he spoke. “I’ve missed you so much.”

Suddenly I wanted to know, needed to know how he could’ve let us go. “Then why, Brooks? Why did you end what we had between us?”

He stroked the hair back from my face and tucked it behind my ear. “I was stupid, and young, and—”

I didn’t let him finish his sentence. Just like that night at the masquerade ball, I leaned in and pressed my mouth to his—only the kisses lasted a lot longer this time.

Chapter Eleven

Yesterday evening with Brooks had been intense. Not only because of the discoveries we’d learned about each other, but also because we had kissed long into the night—the alphabet soup cold and forgotten and the home-baked bread going stale and dry.

Now, here we were on a lunch date at an Italian restaurant called Cafe Mattia.

“Thanks for meeting me,” he said.

I smiled at him. “Of course.”

He smiled at me. “I was a little worried. I felt like maybe I’d opened some old wounds for you last night?”

I shook my head. “No, it’s fine.” I stopped talking to take a bite of pizza, a slice so delicious that for a moment I couldn’t talk. “Wow, that’s almost as good as your soup.”

He laughed. “Thanks for the praise. Didn’t I tell you this was the best pizza in the entire city?”

I stopped suddenly and narrowed my eyes at Brooks, holding the enormous pepperoni triangle in mid-air. “Wait a minute, that’s a line from my book. Wait, this entire scene is a chapter from my book!”

Brooks feigned innocence for a moment, and then broke into a boyish grin. “Glad you caught that since you’re the author and all. I thought we should get back on track with our ‘experiment.’

“Brooks Keller, if I didn’t have my hands full of Cafe Mattia’s finest, I’d throw my arms around you right here, right now.”

I was touched. I had no idea that Brooks could be so romantic. Yet here we were, living out another one of my chapters.

“Well, after last night I wanted to give you a romantic date of your own. And I have to admit . . .” Brooks broke off for a moment, as if deciding whether or