by Leigh Duncan
His usual aplomb deserted him as she neared. Struggling to his feet, he bumped his knees on a table leg, a move that sent water goblets teetering and flooded his face with uncustomary warmth. It took effort, but he managed to circle the table and pull back her chair without crashing into anything else. While she slid onto the upholstered cushion, he brushed a hand down the button placket of his linen shirt. For the first time in recent memory, he wished he’d packed his tux. A woman like Charlie deserved black tie, dim lights and all the trappings of success. Maintaining his good ol’ boy image long enough to pry answers from her was going to be tougher than he’d thought it would be. Especially considering the willowy blonde was someone he’d definitely like to impress.
* * *
The tuxedoed server hovering at her elbow waited just long enough for Charlie to slide her legs under the table before he leaned in, spreading a crisp white napkin across her lap. Three feet away, Josh tugged his own chair out just a shade too forcefully. He collapsed into it, his shoulders slumping, as nervous as a schoolboy on his first date. And no wonder. He’d probably never stepped into a five-star restaurant before, almost certainly had never dined in one where the staff outnumbered the guests. He was, in all likelihood, gasping for air like a fish out of water. She smiled, trying her best to put him at ease.
“I’m glad we decided to do this tonight,” she said, her voice low. “You look nice.” Nice was an understatement. Though he hadn’t exactly dressed for dinner, he looked perfectly delectable in a linen shirt and chinos.
A shy smile spread from his eyes downward, widening a pair of kissable lips and stirring an unexpected warmth in her midsection. Suddenly thirsty, she sipped water. Josh didn’t need to dress up for anyone. Not with that boyish grin of his dimpling his chiseled cheeks.
“You look pretty good yourself. I like your hair all loose like that.”
“Yes, well.” She flicked a thick strand over one shoulder. “I wear it up when I’m working. It’s easier that way.”
Wait staff stood at a discreet distance while Josh said, “I’ve ordered some cheese and a bottle of wine to start. I hope you’ll like it.”
As if his words had triggered the man’s appearance, the sommelier approached the table bearing Josh’s selection.
“Um, could you hold off a sec?” Charlie hid her dismay at the expensive-looking bottle. She liked a nice glass of chardonnay as well as the next person, but the Bordeaux had to cost more than Josh’s salary for an entire week. She ran a finger down the wine list, searching for something affordable. “I think we might try something else. How about the house rosé?”
“I’m sure the house wines are good.” Josh glanced at the sommelier, who nodded agreeably. “But this one had a very high rating in Wine Spectator. I want to give it a try.”
“Are you sure, Josh? It’s awfully…” Unwilling to insult him, she hesitated.
“Expensive?” he asked, filling in the blank. “I know. If it’s as good as they say it is, it’ll be worth it.”
He’d probably read about it in a magazine he pulled off the rack at the Super Min and wanted to make an impression. She resisted the urge to point out how unnecessary that was. It’d take more than a good bottle of wine and a snack in a nice restaurant to move their relationship past the first stepping stone. A lot more. Not that Josh wasn’t a great guy or didn’t deserve her attention. His killer smile and fantasy-inspiring body bought him at least that much.
“Fine,” she said, conceding the field.
She waited while the waiter made a production out of opening the bottle. To her surprise, Josh took the cork when it was handed to him and waved it under his nose just like the connoisseurs had in the wine appreciation class she’d taken one weekend. She studied his face, noting the way his nostrils flared the tiniest bit, a sign that he found the aroma acceptable. The wine steward poured a small portion. Taking it, Josh tipped his glass from side to side, apparently entranced by the ruby red hues coating the inside of the glass. At last, he took a sip. She tried not to stare when he swallowed, but his Adam’s apple bobbed so gracefully, the sight made her back teeth ache.
“Excellent,” he pronounced. “I think we’ll enjoy this.”
Heat pooled in her midsection when he met her gaze. Unable to look away, she stared into his deep-set eyes. The heat rose to her face, and she had a hard time resisting the urge to fan herself. At last, with a gentle nod, Josh broke the contact, his attention returning to the steward, who splashed generous portions into both their glasses.
Glad for the distraction, Charlie took a drink. Unexpected and bold, the dark, fruity taste practically exploded on her tongue. She closed her eyes, enjoying the rich sensation.
“Oh,” she breathed when she found her voice again. “You were so right.” She tipped her glass. “I don’t know a lot about wine, but this one is lovely.” In truth, she barely knew enough to tell a dry wine from sweet. As for the nuances other people raved about—oak and cinnamon, pear or cherry—she readily admitted she didn’t have a clue. But, like an art collector, she knew what she liked. And she liked this.
“A toast,” Josh said, lifting his glass. “May tonight be just the beginning…” As she touched her rim to his, his eyes twinkled, and he added, “Of a great friendship.”
Her breath caught, and she wondered what it’d be like if they were on a real date, rather than a casual meet-and-greet for drinks. She had a funny feeling that, if things were different between them, she could seriously fall for the man seated across the table. He was sweet and kind, with a body that made all her feminine parts stand to attention. On the outside, at least, he seemed like the perfect guy. But the fact remained that they were two ships at sea, each headed in different directions, only coming within hailing distance of each other for one brief moment.
“Have you heard from Charity?” she asked, the question serving as a reminder to both of them that they had no future together.
“Not yet. I’m sure she’ll check in once they make port in Cozumel. Cheese?” he asked.
Her gaze dropped to the artfully arranged platter their waitress had slid onto the table while her focus had been locked on Josh. Wedges in various shades surrounded ripe figs at one end. At the other, a small pot held a spread that looked and smelled divine. A basket of home-baked crackers and tiny slivers of toast stood nearby. To give her fingers something to do besides reaching across the table to stroke Josh’s arm, she busied them by doling out crackers and dip.
Josh popped a cheese-laden slice into his mouth. Entranced by the movement of his jaw, she wondered if they both felt the same pull toward one another. Apparently not, because his focus definitely was on other things when he said, “Tell me about this deal.”
Charlie blinked. Business? Not the topic of conversation she’d have chosen when they were seated at the best table in one of the finest restaurants in Florida. She reeled her thoughts in from the impromptu walk they’d taken down a flower-strewn path. It was just as well that Josh wanted to discuss the Super Min, she told herself. She shouldn’t be thinking about anything else anyway. Certainly not about how tall and muscular her date was. Or the way his broad chest filled out his shirt.
She gave her head a slight shake to clear it and spouted the party line. “My firm, Waterson and Bash in Orlando, was retained by Favor Oil to bring the mom-and-pop stores connected to their gas stations under one umbrella. The initiative will standardize stores across the nation—same basic floor plan, same signage, same products. That will enable Favor to buy in larger bulk when stocking their stores and lead to lower consumer prices, a huge benefit.”
“At the cost of the stores’ individuality.” Josh mashed one of the figs and spread it over a slice of cheese. “Try this,” he said, dishing a portion onto her bread plate.
“I’m not sure what you mean by that,” she said, spreading a glob of the unappealing mix on a toast point. Just to be polite, she took a dainty bite and then savored another when the combination of salt and swee
t woke up her taste buds.
“Okay.” Holding a small butter knife against a fragrant herbed cracker, Josh lowered his hands to the table. “Take the Super Min’s boiled peanuts as an example. They’re made from a recipe that’s been handed down through Charity’s family for generations. Visitors to the island come back to the Super Min, rather than shopping at a big-box store on the mainland, just to get our boiled peanuts. Other little mom-and-pops have their own specialty items. Those will all go away if Favor takes over.”
For a moment, Charlie lost herself in memories of an immense cast-iron pot suspended over an open fire. As a kid, she’d rated a peanut boil right up there with dipping hand-cranked ice cream straight out of the churn on a hot summer night. Only the first watermelon of the season rated higher, and her mouth watered for the taste of soft, salty peanuts. The urge to sample the Super Min’s before she headed home washed over her. Resisting, she wiped a crumb from the linen tablecloth and shook aside her childhood likes and dislikes. Her tastes were far more sophisticated now.
“You make a valid point. But the client feels the benefits—lower prices for consumers—will win out in the end. It fits with their motto: Do yourself a favor. Shop at Favor.” Which, in her mind at least, was redundant and therefore stupid, but since no one had asked for her advice, she’d kept her mouth shut on the subject. She broke a cracker in half. “I’m afraid this decision was made by someone much higher up the chain than you or me. And, it’s going to happen. Charity has already agreed to the terms. All that’s left is to get her signature, and the sale is a done deal.”
“Now, see.” Josh spread more of that delicious fig mixture onto a cracker and placed it on her plate. “Her selling out still doesn’t make any sense.”
Charlie gave her best imitation of an old-time gangster. “Maybe the company made her an offer she couldn’t refuse.”
The fact was, Charity didn’t have a choice. Not really. She needed Favor’s gas franchise in order to draw business into her store. Without it, she might as well lock the doors and turn off the lights. A tidbit the owner apparently hadn’t shared with her employee any more than she’d informed him of the impending sale.
“Maybe,” Josh said, pensive.
Here, at least, she could offer reassurance. “Once the sale is complete, Favor Oil will send in a crack team to do the reset. There’ll be very little downtime. Most stores will be closed for a day, two at the most. They’ve promised to keep as many current employees in place as possible. You’ll be able to keep your job. Plus, Favor offers benefits that a smaller store can’t provide—health insurance, accrued vacation, sick leave. In the long run, you’ll be better off.”
“Hot dogs and sodas are good enough for me,” he joked, patting a flat tummy. Once the joke earned the expected laugh, his tone sobered. “I kind of grew up at the Super Min. I like things the way they are.”
He was a creature of habit. Why was she not surprised? Any man who’d spent his life on Mimosa Key without venturing any farther than an occasional trip across the bridge to Naples probably wouldn’t adjust well to change. She, on the other hand, loved nothing more than packing her bags for a trip to some exotic part of the world. It was just one more reason why any relationship she had with Josh would begin and end as soon as she completed her business on the island. She dusted a crumb into the palm of her hand. They’d nibbled the cheese into oblivion. The wine bottle was nearly empty. It was time to call an end to their evening.
“This has been nice, Josh,” she said, pushing back her chair.
“Do you have to go?” Regret played across his strong features. “I wish you’d stay. Have dinner with me.” Almost before he finished saying the words, their waitress reappeared at the edge of the table carrying oversize menus.
“I’ve had a great time, but…” She glanced from the leather-bound booklets to the disappointment that shone in Josh’s dark eyes. Beckoning him forward, she cupped one hand around her mouth and leaned to his ear. “I can’t let you buy dinner here. Do you have any idea what a meal in a place like this runs?”
“It’s not cheap, I’ll give you that,” came Josh’s whispered response. “But it’ll be worth every dime, and more, if you’ll stay.” He leaned away while his expression shifted into a teasing grin. “You might as well. I’m going to order, no matter what, but I suspect my fish will taste all the sweeter for your company. The pompano, Marcia,” he said, not bothering to glance at the menu.
Charlie’s breath unraveled. Sharing a meal with Josh, lingering over coffee and dessert, held more appeal than she’d expected. Still, she couldn’t let him go into debt, no matter how much she wanted to spend more time with him. Her thoughts tumbled until they landed on what seemed like a fair compromise. “Tell you what, I’ll stay if you let me pick up the tab. I’m on a business trip, after all. I can expense it.” Although, not even her generous expense account would cover their entire meal.
The waitress coughed discreetly. “If I may…” She waited for Josh’s nod before continuing. “The bill has been handled. Courtesy of Mrs. Walker.”
Charlie fought to keep her mouth from dropping open. First, Lacey Walker had insisted on having the chef prepare something special. Now, she was comping the entire meal. It didn’t make sense. Not for a mere clerk at a convenience store.
Who is this guy?
“You know the owners that well?” she ventured.
Josh’s nonchalant gesture did little to put her at ease.
“Lacey and I go way back. She used to babysit me when I was a little tyke,” he admitted with a sheepish grin. “I guess she’s still looking out for me. So…you’ll stay?”
The hesitant tremor in his voice cut her off at the knees. She rushed to reassure him. “How could I leave?” She glanced at Marcia. “The fish is good?”
“Excellent, Ms. Oak. Much of our produce comes from the small organic farm here on the property. As for the fish, Chef Ian meets the boats at the docks each morning and hand-selects the best of the catch for Casa Blanca. The things that man can do with food…” Marcia pressed her hand against her chest in a pretend swoon.
“You’ve convinced me,” Charlie said with a laugh. “The pompano it is.”
“Very good. You won’t be disappointed.”
“Thank you,” Josh said as Marcia left and Charlie settled into her seat once more. He leaned across the table and gave her hand a squeeze. “I’m looking forward to learning more about you.”
The wait staff swooped in then, preventing her from examining the tingle Josh’s touch had ignited at her wrist. Plates were removed and crumbs brushed from the table. Goblets were refreshed and silverware replenished. The wine steward brought a selection of white wines, and Josh chose between them.
In the lull before the next course, she turned to him. “How’d you wind up working at the Super Min?” she asked, hoping the job was a stepping stone to something…more.
“That’s a long story and not all that interesting.” Josh leaned back in his chair, one hand playing with the stem of his water glass.
“Let’s hear it,” she prompted, determined to justify her growing regard for the man across the table.
“I’ll give you the condensed version. I never knew my dad—he split before I was born. My mom did the best she could, but she was only eighteen when she had me. Keeping a roof over our heads was a never-ending struggle. I guess I was a latchkey kid.” He rolled a shoulder. “If it hadn’t been for people like Charity and Lacey…” He gulped from his glass.
In a move that would have drawn censure from someone more in tune with formal table manners, she propped her elbows on the table and leaned toward Josh. “Tell me more. I want to hear every detail,” she insisted, surprised by how much she meant the words.
“Once she found out I was on my own while Mom was at work, Charity put me to work at the Super Min. It was her version of day care, I guess. I was six or seven when I started stocking shelves. I’ve worked there—off and on—ever since.” He fell s
ilent while their server placed bowls of fragrant soup before them and departed. Once they were alone again, Josh said, “I’m not quite sure why I told you all that. I’m not usually so open about my past.”
“I’m glad you did,” Charlie whispered, understanding now why he feared change. A part of her heart melted as she pictured a young Josh wearing hand-me-downs, his hair falling over his eyes while he dragged or shoved heavy cartons across the hardwood floors. The Super Min had been his home away from home. But change was coming, whether either of them wanted it or not. Charity Grambling’s days of selling boiled peanuts and providing her own version of child care were numbered. Charlie wrenched her thoughts to the here and now. “Charity must like your mom a lot. Are they close?”
“They’re like”—he paused, his brow furrowing—“family. But it’s more than that. Folks on Mimosa Key take care of one another. It’s part of what makes the island special. Well, there you have it. You know all there is to know about me. The important stuff anyway.” He eyed an array of silverware before selecting the largest spoon. Grinning as though pleased with himself, he dipped into the soup. “This is great. Try some.”
“Oh, I imagine there’s a lot you haven’t told me.” She had the strangest feeling Josh had glossed over more than a few details. She wanted to know the rest of his story—where he’d gone to school, what clubs he’d belonged to, if he’d played sports or ever considered college.
“But what I want is to know more about you.” Across the table, the dimple in Josh’s cheek deepened when he smiled. “Let’s start with the basics. Where were you born? Where’d you grow up?”
“I’ll tell you what. You guess. For every right answer, I’ll”—she tapped a finger to her chin—“let you have a bite of my dessert. The lemon mousse on the menu is calling my name.” She leaned into her seat, enjoying the game. “So from what you know about me so far, where do you think I grew up?”