She ordered Pellegrino with lime, folded her arms on the table, and grinned, her eyes sparking with life. God, she was adorable.
“Do you want wine with dinner?”
Kate shook her head. “I’ve had more than enough today.”
“Drank the whole bottle, eh?” He had to tease her a little. He couldn’t help himself.
“I never do that,” she chuckled. “But it was over several hours and it is my birthday, after all.”
“True enough.” She may have been feeling a little beat up over her divorce, but David liked the sweet, sassy personality he saw emerging.
“Okay, David, I bared my soul. Now it’s your turn.”
“What do you want to know?” He tore off a piece of bread and dipped it in olive oil.
“Tell me about hockey. How long have you been playing?”
“Professionally? This is my eighth season.”
“And before that?”
“I played at Boston College, which is where I picked up my nickname.” She leveled her gaze and leaned in. That little bit of info wasn’t going to satisfy her—she wanted details. “My freshman year I kind of kept to myself, didn’t go out much, and my teammates teased me for acting like a priest.”
Kate smiled, and nodded her understanding. “My dad went to B-C,” she said. “It’s where I should have gone.”
“Where did you go?”
“Harvard.” She smirked and broke off a piece of bread for herself. “Dad wasn’t happy.”
He chuckled. Only a person who went to school in Boston, and who understood the rivalries, could comprehend why a parent would be disappointed his child had chosen Harvard. “My father didn’t want me to go at all. He wanted me to play in Juniors in Canada. If I’d gone that route, I’d have jumped to the NHL two seasons sooner, but my mother wanted me to get an education.”
“She must be proud of you.”
“I hope so. She died when I was sixteen.” Why had he said that? He never talked about his mother, ever. But something about Kate, about the sudden softness in her expression, told him she’d understand.
“That had to be difficult for you.”
“It was. We were close and she was sick for a long time.”
“Did you get your looks from your mother?”
“I did.” He narrowed his eyes. “Why do you ask?”
“Burke is an Irish name, and you don’t look Irish.”
He felt a little twitch around his heart—it was new and unexpected. Those little details would have been lost on most women. “Her people were Italian.”
“Where did you grow up?” She stared at him with those amazing cat eyes. He was convinced she could probably see in the dark.
“A town outside Calgary.” He took a sip of his beer. “You never told me what you do.”
“I’m a teacher and… a writer.” She fiddled with her fork, almost as if she were embarrassed by the fact.
“What do you teach?” he asked.
“High school English. I’m here for a conference.”
“And what do you write?”
She paused, considering the question. “Um… I guess you could call them crime novels, suspense.”
She surprised him. She seemed so down to earth, and he always thought of novelists as having an air of mystery, or pretense, around them. “Would I have read anything you’ve written?”
“Maybe.” She shrugged and her tongue played over her lips, spreading a stray drop of olive oil.
“I am literate,” he teased.
Her eyes twinkled and she nodded. “I know.”
David tapped his finger on the edge of his glass. Maybe she did fit the bill. She sure wasn’t giving up much. David wanted to know what was cooking underneath Kate’s cool exterior—he had a feeling he’d find a lot of heat. “How many have you written?”
“A few, but you changed the subject. I want to know about the NHL.”
Again, David felt warmth spread through his chest. It was a nice change to be with a woman who wasn’t talking about the best personal trainer or the newest, hottest club. Kate was genuinely interested in him—in who he was and how he lived his life. So, he told her about his games and what it was like playing pro. He explained how the travel got to him, about his teammates and their antics, and about the injuries. He hadn’t opened up like this to anyone in a while, but Kate made it easy. She asked him questions, but her undemanding manner made him comfortable, and David was never comfortable. Something wiggled inside him, something that told him this was the way it was supposed to be with a woman.
They ordered different pasta dishes and he fed her a bite of his. She closed her eyes, savoring the taste. Then she looked in his eyes, not a coy glance—she went deep, probing. Unexpectedly, her hand came up and grazed over the bruise on his face. David felt a rush go through his body. The touch was innocent, but it upset his balance; the part of him that kept his emotions in check and his actions controlled spun and collided with a physical response that was so sudden, he felt weak.
David grasped her fingers. “Jesus,” he whispered, unable to say any more than that.
“What happened?” she asked.
Realizing she was talking about the bruise, he answered, “High stick last night in San Jose.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Not really.” He laced his fingers with hers and drew a deep, painful breath. The air felt thick in his lungs. “Are you finished? We could take that walk now.”
She acknowledged him without a word. David paid the check and led her out toward the beach.
Chapter 2
‡
A light breeze blew in from the ocean and Kate rubbed her arms. Without hesitation, David handed her the jacket he’d brought with him from the car. He didn’t ask if she was cold, he just saw her response and acted, never thinking of his own comfort.
“Won’t you be cold?” she asked.
“Nah.” He grinned. “Where I come from, this is balmy.”
She pushed up the too-long sleeves and caught his warm, musky scent as she drew the jacket around her. Kate welcomed the way she felt. It had been a long time since she’d been so content.
As David promised, they checked out the pier, which was like a year round carnival. They went to the arcade first, where Kate learned she was a pretty good air hockey player. David dropped at least fifty dollars on games trying to win her a cheap prize. Then he took her on the Ferris wheel, which appeared to grow right out of the ocean. And while they sat in the gondola at the top of the world, he pulled her close. She snuggled into the crook of his arm, telling herself it was to get away from the chill, but actually she loved feeling his body next to hers.
After the rides, he bought ice cream cones and they ate them while strolling on a path by the beach, sometimes talking, sometimes just enjoying the shared silence. Music floated out of a bar they passed, and the notes of an old ballad hung in the air while couples slow-danced on the outdoor deck.
He licked the vanilla ice cream right where it met the cone. “I can’t believe I picked you up in a bar.”
Kate laughed. “Have you ever done that before?”
“A bar pick-up? Too many. You?”
“Never. You’re my first.”
“Rookie,” he said playfully. “But to tell you the truth, this is more like a first date.”
“A really good first date,” she added.
“Have you dated at all since you and your husband separated?”
“Nope, another first.” She felt her heart speed up just a little as she thought about how the night was unfolding. This was turning out to be her best birthday yet.
His mouth curled up at the corners. He was obviously pleased that he was the one reinitiating her to the single life. What was it with guys and being first?
“Long time since you’ve been on a first date,” he said.