The Paper Daughters of Chinatown - Heather B. Moore Page 0,93

only to cover the sudden fluttering inside her stomach. She didn’t even know much about this man; he could be married, for all she knew. But his very persona had caught her full attention.

Charles came around the table and shook Dolly’s hand.

How were his eyes so impossibly green? They reminded her of the leaves of a young apple tree. And his warm, strong handshake could be felt long after he’d moved on to greet her sister and brother-in-law.

“Nice to meet you all.” Charles’s voice wasn’t quite as deep as his brother’s, but it had a nice low tone all the same.

His smile was rather beautiful too. The man’s athletic grace and skilled conversation kept Dolly mesmerized the rest of the meal. When he turned his attention to her, it was as if she couldn’t look away from the depth of his dark green eyes. She wanted to ask him so many questions. She wanted to know everything about him. Charles Bazatas was wholly unexpected.

Following dinner, the family moved onto the wide front porch to enjoy the cooling weather and the scented breeze coming off the apple orchard. Dolly wandered to the porch railing and gazed across the front yard. The setting sun’s rays had turned the sprawling grass and neat road leading away from the house a rich golden color.

“I had never thought I would have the privilege to meet you, Donaldina.” Charles joined her at the railing. His smile was easy, his voice mellow. “My brother has shared more than one story about ‘Miss Cameron from San Francisco.’”

Ben had talked about her to his brother? Her neck warmed, and it wasn’t only because of what he’d said—it was the way he studied her. As if he were truly interested in what she had to say, and as if they weren’t surrounded by other family members who could very well hear every word spoken.

“Call me Dolly.” She rested her hands on the rail. “Everyone calls me that—well, at least most people.”

“Most people?”

How did he pick up on every single nuance? Charles was standing close to her—very close—or was she just that aware of him? And was he wearing cologne, or did he naturally smell like sunshine and leather combined?

“The girls at the mission home call me Lo Mo.” The warmth of her neck spread upward, flushing her cheeks. She wondered if it would be rude to head inside the house for another glass of iced lemonade.

“What does that mean?” Charles pressed.

“Directly translated it means ‘old mother.’”

Charles grinned. “Really?”

She laughed at his reaction, and the warmth continued through her body, nearly reaching her heart. “It’s an endearment.”

“To be sure.” Charles rested his hip against the porch railing so that they could see each other eye to eye. Folding his arms, he said, “You’re doing remarkable work, Dolly. Puts the rest of us to shame.”

The way he’d said her name sent a new thrill through her. She really should call it a night and tell her sister she was ready to return home. But speaking to Charles felt so easy and natural that she found herself telling him stories of the Chinese girls along with women of other nationalities the mission had helped. Charles’s expression appeared truly intent, and he listened to every word.

When she looked across the porch, it seemed that everyone had disappeared. Had she and Charles really been so involved in their conversation that she hadn’t seen the others leaving? Voices and laughter trickled from the house. Maybe they were having dessert? Charles noticed the same thing.

“Looks like we wore everyone else out,” he teased.

Dolly swung her gaze back to his and found his green eyes had darkened in the fading light of the evening. “They’re tired of hearing my stories, I suppose.”

Charles chuckled and lowered his arms, setting his hands on the railing. He crossed his legs. Dolly tried not to look at his elongated form and kept her gaze on the trees in the yard.

“I doubt that anyone could tire of your stories,” Charles said, his voice lower and softer than before. “From what I’ve observed, every word you speak is interesting.”

Dolly turned toward Charles, if only to add some distance between their bodies. Was he . . . flirting with her? Or was he usually this complimentary toward others?

“And I’m sure you could fill pages and pages with your experiences, Dolly,” he continued. “I don’t profess to know a lot, but news of your mission home has reached even the corners of Los Angeles. Everyone knows