toast, he said, “Now, I drink my bourbon, and you drink your wine while you anticipate the best corn on the cob you’ve ever eaten.”
She peered dubiously through the microwave window at the ears of corn rotating inside, then shrugged. “Okay. How about out on the porch?”
Following her from the kitchen, he tried not to fixate on how nicely her light denim skirt molded to her bottom. From those enticing curves it flared out and stopped short of her knees by several inches.
Her top was a black, body-hugging, stretchy thing with armholes cut high enough to reveal a lot of shoulder. He spied a few freckles beneath the strands of hair that had escaped her topknot and curled against her neck.
He wanted to give all of it a thorough, hands-on inspection.
She sat down in the rocker that he knew to be hers from having spied on her and Jasper. He was about to take the other chair, but hesitated. “Should I save this for Jasper?”
She motioned him into the chair and took a sip of wine. As they settled into their seats, she asked, “Did you write today?”
“For several hours.”
“You were at it for a long while last night.” He gave her a quizzical look; she looked embarrassed. “Your shades were up and the lights were on. I saw you sitting at the computer.”
He groaned. “I didn’t do anything uncouth or indecent, did I?”
She gave a soft laugh. “Not that I saw.”
He thought about what he’d done in his bed inspired by fantasies of her, and it wasn’t entirely faked when he swiped his brow with the back of his hand as though greatly relieved. “Whew.”
“I think writing must be harder work than most people realize.”
“I can’t speak for other writers, but for me, it’s damn hard. I did a run on the beach this afternoon just to work the kinks out.”
“Muscles tend to kink after sitting at a computer for long stretches of time.”
“True, but I was referring to the kinks in my plot.”
“Oh,” she said, laughing. “Did the run work them out?”
“After a couple of miles, some of them smoothed out a little.”
“Good.”
He extended his legs in front of him and crossed his ankles. “What about your work? Are you off again any time soon?”
“Next week. In the meantime, I’m pulling together an itinerary for a client who wants to take his entire family to Africa for a month-long tour. First class all the way. Several countries, game preserves, Victoria Falls, Cape Town, photo safaris in the bush.”
“Sounds scary.”
“I don’t send my clients anyplace that I deem unsafe.”
“No, the scary part would be traveling for a month with family.”
“Eight adults, eleven children.”
He shuddered. “Terrifying.”
She laughed, then turned more serious and looked into her glass of wine as she ran her index finger around the rim. “Jasper told me that you’re divorced. Any children?”
“No.”
She said nothing for a time, then, in a lighter tone, “He also told me about your encounter last night.”
“Next time, I’ll phone ahead before I come prowling across your backyard. When Jasper came barging around that tree, I thought I was a goner.”
“The poor mouse was.”
“Yeah. He must’ve gone peacefully, though. Saved me from having to trap him. Or get a cat.”
She tilted her head and took him in from his hair to the scuffed toes of his shoes. “You don’t strike me as a cat person.”
“I’m not. But I’m not a mouse person, either.”
She smiled.
“Which are you?” he asked. “Cat person or dog person?”
“I’m fonder of dogs.”
“I haven’t seen one around.”
“Jasper is allergic.”
“Too bad.” He turned more toward her, tipped his head to one side, and gave her the same assessing treatment she’d given him. Nodding toward her glass of wine, he said, “Red over white?”
“Yes.”
“Tropical climes or cold?”
“I was brought up in Charleston.”
“Tropical then.”
“Right.”
“Star Wars or Star Trek?”
“Star Wars.”
He stroked his chin. “Let’s see, what else? I already know chocolate over vanilla. Land over sea.”
“My turn. I know very little about you, not even the basics. You don’t talk much about yourself.”
He spread his arms wide. “My life is an open book.” He glanced across the lawn toward the apartment. “So to speak.”
“Will your novel reveal aspects of you?”
“Undoubtedly. It’ll be subconscious, but some of me will probably sneak in there.”
“Then in order for me to know you better, I’ll have to read it.”
He arched an eyebrow. “You want to know me better?”
Realizing she’d stepped into a trap of her own making, she repositioned herself in the rocker as though reestablishing boundaries. She