“Stop it,” she muttered to herself. “Think about something else.”
She dug her comb out of her purse and swiped it through her hair, then got out lipstick and stroked on a little. Standing back to survey the effect, she hoped it didn’t look like she’d gotten fixed up for him. But then what was wrong with that? An attractive man had asked her to lunch, and there was no reason not to make herself look good for him. Any American girl would do that.
Like her. Making herself into an American had been one of her goals. On the surface, she thought she had succeeded, but she knew her values were old-fashioned by American standards.
Ordering herself not to keep going on about her reactions, she left the ladies’ room and took the elevator to the first floor, where Shane was standing in the lobby, gazing out the front window.
He turned when he heard her coming up behind him. “Hi.”
“Hi,” she answered, hearing the breathy quality of her voice. She ordered herself to act normal, whatever that meant.
“The deli’s not fancy.”
“Do I look to you like a woman who needs fancy?” she heard herself ask.
That stopped him for a moment, and she felt she might have scored a point when a hint of a smile touched his lips. “I guess not.”
“Good.” But was she keeping score—and of what?
When they stepped out of the building and into the parking lot, she noted that he had a good space, one of the numbered ones close to the building.
His car was large. An SUV, she guessed you’d call it. Still, when they climbed into the front seat and closed the doors, she felt like the two of them were very close together. Closer than she would have chosen. She could smell the subtle tang of the aftershave he’d used, and she could see the muscles work in his arm as he reached to start the car and put it in gear. She grabbed on to the attraction she felt for him and deliberately pushed it into a corner of her mind.
Still, when he twisted to look behind the car as he backed out of the parking space, she felt his shoulder brush hers and jumped back.
“Sorry,” he said.
“That’s okay. I’m just…”
“What?”
She dragged in a breath and let it out. “I was brought up not to be alone with a man. It’s hard to break old habits.”
When he tipped his head to the side, she heard herself explaining. “I’m from San Marcos.” So what was she doing now, trying to sabotage her all-American image?
“Right. I forgot,” he said, making her think that he knew very well where she was from.
“How long have you been here?” he asked.
“Twenty years. But behavior gets drummed into you by your parents. And you know…the church.”
“Yeah.”
“So you know what I mean?”
“Uh-huh.”
As long as they were having this conversation, she decided to ask, “What did your parents drum into you?”
“Politeness, for one thing.” He paused. “And honesty.”
She nodded. “I got that, too.”
“And they made sure I valued work.”
“Were you always in security?”
“After college, when I couldn’t get a job, I joined the army and went into their investigative service.”
“Oh.”
“It was good training.”
He pulled up in the parking lot of an entertainment complex.
“It’s in here.”
They didn’t go directly inside. Instead, she followed him around the side of the sprawling building to a restaurant that looked out over a small lake. Tables shaded by umbrellas were scattered around a wide concrete patio. Many were occupied, but there were still some vacant. When they went inside, she could see more tables with fewer people.
“It’s a nicer view if you eat on the patio,” he commented. “And the sunshine’s good.”
“Yes,” she answered as she scanned the menu, which was printed on a large board above the cooking area. There were a lot of items, enough to make a decision difficult.
“My standard is corned beef on rye with coleslaw and Russian dressing. What’s your choice?”
She focused on the board again and found one that met her own standards. “Tuna salad.”
“And we could split some potato salad.”
“Okay.”
“What do you want to drink?”
“Iced tea.”
It was strange to suddenly be choosing food and preparing to have a meal with the man she’d had an intimate encounter with last night—even if it had been a fantasy that he didn’t even know about. The juxtaposition made her feel as though she had stepped from the real world into an alternate reality.
“Why don’t you go get us a table,” he said. “I’ll order and bring out the food.”
When she fumbled for her wallet, he waved his hand. “I’ll get it.”
“But…”
“You might have saved my life last night,” he said. “The least I can do is buy you lunch.”
She answered with a small nod.
“Get a nice table,” he said, changing the subject.
Glad to get away from him for the moment, she stepped outside, feeling like she’d escaped from…what exactly?
Blinking in the sunlight as she waited for her eyes to adjust again, she looked around at the tables and chose one close to the lake. She’d brought a sweater, thinking they might be eating inside where the air-conditioning was chilly. Because she didn’t need it out here, she draped it over one of the chair backs. Looking up again, she saw a mother duck in the water with eight fuzzy yellow babies trailing behind her. Glad for something to focus on besides the man buying her lunch, she went over to the waterside and bent over, watching the little family and wishing she had something to feed them.
A hand on her shoulder made her jump. Looking around, she saw that Shane had come out with the food. He could have told her that he was back. Instead, he’d touched her.
“I couldn’t resist watching the ducks. But I saved our table.”
“Good.”
She caught something in his voice, something she couldn’t quite figure out.
He had put a plastic tray on the table with the sandwiches, potato salad, and drinks.
As they sat across from each other, she emptied a packet of sugar into her tea and stirred it with the straw he’d brought. Then she unwrapped her sandwich and took a bite. “This is good.”
He kept his gaze on her. “How do you rate tuna sandwiches?”
She laughed. “This one doesn’t have too much mayonnaise. The tuna is good quality, and it’s seasoned with pickle relish—which I like.”
“An interesting analysis. I’ll keep it in mind.”
“What do you look for in a tuna sandwich?”
He shifted in his seat. “I guess I think of tuna salad as lady food.”
“Oh.”
“I forgot to ask what kind of bread you like. Is the whole wheat okay?”
“It’s fine.”
They bit into their sandwiches and chewed, and there was a moment of silence during which she wondered if they were both trying to think of something to say that didn’t involve the food.
“I’m guessing they don’t have the same dishes in San Marcos,” he said.
“No. They weren’t into sandwiches at home. More like meals based on rice and beans. Sometimes with meat. Chicken or fish.”
“And not canned tuna fish, I’ll bet.”
He was trying to make her relax with the small talk, but she wondered if she’d ever be able to relax around him.
“No. I got to like it at school. Imitating the other girls in the cafeteria.”
“You went to school around here?”