She lifted her brows. “I just assumed…” She shook her head. “I was making judgments based on your appearance. Something I’ve tried hard to teach Sam to never do. And I’m frankly ashamed of myself for it.”
“Don’t be. I promise, it’s my deliberate intent to look the way I do, to convey the image that look conveys. It’s who I am.”
“Yeah. He doesn’t start every sentence by saying, ‘Hi, I’m famous. Have you heard of me?’ the way that other guy does.”
“There’s nothing wrong with being proud of your success, pal,” Gabe said, even as Carrie was opening her mouth to correct her son.
“Then why don’t you act like you are?” Sam asked.
“My values, my choice,” Gabe replied easily. “Doesn’t mean I get to force them on anyone else, much less judge them for their own. Shoot, I don’t believe in big, flashy vehicles, either. For me, they just don’t fit. But I wouldn’t even think about telling you to sell yours and buy an old VW. Because for you, that wouldn’t fit.”
Sam nodded. “I got you.”
“Good.” Gabe turned to Carrie. “Have your dinner with Ambrose if you want. My feelings won’t be hurt in the least.”
She met his eyes. “Really?”
“Really.”
She blinked, and felt right down to her toes that she would far rather spend the evening getting to know Gabe. And yet that practical part of her mind whispered that Ambrose was a whole lot closer to what she wanted. And that Gabe was the epitome of everything she didn’t want.
“I think,” she said slowly, “that his feelings would be hurt.”
“I think I agree with you.”
She held his gaze, and something tingled along the back of her neck. “You do?”
“Yeah. He seems to put a lot of stock in ego. And being turned down would be a blow to his.”
She nodded, glancing at Ambrose, who was in an apparently fascinating conversation with Sadie. The girl was clearly wise enough to know that he was the topic of discussion and that she should keep him distracted until they had finished.
God, she loved that girl.
“You’re welcome to go back to the house with the kids, Gabe,” she said. “If I let Sam miss the opportunity to, uh, jam with his hero, I’ll lose out on that mother-of-the-year nomination yet again.”
Sam rolled his eyes at her corny joke, but there was love and appreciation in them, too.
“I’ll try to get home early,” she said. “Maybe if you guys can hold off on dessert, we could all have it together when I get back.”
Gabe lifted his brows. “Really?”
She shrugged. “It’s not every day a girl has a rock star in her house.”
“Just a songwriter,” he said. “I only play for pleasure.”
“Even better.”
“Yeah?”
She nodded. “Even though you should know I prefer country music myself.”
“Sammy Gold. I know.”
“Oh, my son has been talking, hasn’t he?”
Gabe nodded. “Ambrose is getting antsy,” he said. “Come on, Sam, let’s collect that girl of yours, and you can guide me back to the hacienda.”
“Sam, check on Rose for me when you get home, will you?” Carrie interjected, even as Gabe and Sam began to walk away.
“Sure.”
And then Gabe said, “Rose?” and Sam leaned closer, and began to tell him who she was as they moved on. Sam waved a hand at Sadie, never breaking his stream of words, and she smiled, said goodbye to Ambrose and headed to join them. Gabe got into his bus, Sadie and Sam got into the Sam’s treasured Expedition, and Carrie moved up to stand beside Ambrose.
“Sorry about the delay,” she said. “But yes, I’d love to have dinner with you. I just had to work out some logistics first.”
“That’s wonderful. I’m so glad,” Ambrose said. “I saw a lovely restaurant with a view of the falls the other day. God, what was the name?”
“Fallsview,” she said with a smile.
“Oh. Now how did I forget that?”
She shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll just let you know in advance that it’ll have to be an early night for me.”
“Those logistics, hmm?” he asked.
“I’m afraid they can only be shuffled so far.”
“That’s fine. Honestly. I’ll be grateful for the company. But, um, since you have to leave early, why don’t we take separate vehicles to the restaurant and just meet there?”
“That is an eminently practical suggestion,” Carrie said. “I like the way you think.”
“Thank you,” he said, and then he stood there, silent for a moment, shifting from one foot to the other, until he finally said, “Well, I guess I’ll see you there, then?”
“Perfect. I’ll see you there.”
He took out his keys, looked at them, looked at her, looked at his car, then turned and walked away.
Being awkward with women, she told herself, was not a character flaw. It was actually endearing in a way.
And yet it wasn’t the upcoming dinner on her mind as Carrie drove through the tiny, quiet town toward the falls and the restaurant. It was Gabriel Cain. The quiet, unpretentious, apparently famous songwriter was not at all what he had first seemed. Not at all.
And she wondered what other facets of his personality remained as yet unrevealed. She was dying to talk to him, to listen to him talk back.
Not to mention use Google to see what came up.
She wished to the gods that Ambrose Peck was as appealing to her as the songwriter. But sex appeal wasn’t everything. She knew that. And in every other way, Ambrose was exactly her type.
Just like the last respectable, solid, intellectual she’d dated had seemed to be, she told herself, though she tried not to listen. She’d wasted a couple of months on that jackass.
Oh, well. Live and learn.
4
Ambrose didn’t wait for her in the parking lot. She found that a little odd but shrugged it off as she got out of her car and looked around. The building was made of darkly stained, rough-hewn barn beams and glass, and not much else. It made for the best view in town. Not seeing Ambrose anywhere, she went on inside.
She spotted him at a table near the back, perusing the menu. She noticed his hands and the ring he wore, a figure eight lying on its side—the sign for infinity, she thought. Interesting choice. Nodding her intention to the hostess, Carrie wound her way between tables to join him.
He must have heard her footsteps, because he lowered the menu and rose to his feet. “Ah, there you are.”
“I was only a minute or two behind you,” she said.
“Oh, I know. I just thought I’d go ahead and get us a table. You did say you were short on time tonight.”
Carrie pasted a smile over her momentary irritation and nodded. “That was…thoughtful. Thanks.” She pulled out her chair and sat down. Ambrose sat, as well, and picked up his menu again.
“Do you have any idea what’s good here?” he asked.
“Oh, everything’s pretty good. I like the broiled haddock a lot. Their tartar sauce is—”
“That would be an option if I were in the mood for mercury poisoning.”
“—homemade.” She blinked twice. Had he just criticized her for saying she liked haddock?
“As a doctor, I would think you would be aware of the damage heavy metal contamination can do.”
“Oh, I am. I think fish is fine in moderation.”
“I prefer not to take that chance.” He never took his eyes off the menu. “How is the pasta?”
“Good. Better if you let them grate some fresh lead over it.”
“Excuse me?” He lowered the menu, looking over the top of it at her.
“Lead. Heavy metal.” She shrugged. “It was a joke.”
“Oh?” His brows rose. Then he smiled. “Oh! I see now. I’m afraid I don’t have a very highly developed sense of humor,” he confessed, shaking his head.
“No!” She pressed a h
and to her chest. “I never would have guessed.”
He blinked at her. “Now you’re being sarcastic.”
“See? You do so have a sense of humor,” she said with a smile.
He shrugged. “Pasta, then,” he announced, and, setting the menu on the edge of the table, he looked around in search of the waitress. When he spotted one, wobbling toward another table bearing a huge tray full of food, he held his hand up in the air as if hailing a taxi.
“She’s busy, Ambrose. Besides, I haven’t decided what I’m having yet.”
“I took it you were having the haddock,” he said.
“I said I liked it, not that I was having it tonight.”
He frowned at her. “You sound upset. Have I done something to irritate you, Carrie?”
She met his eyes, saw that they were concerned and softened her tone. “Impatience irritates me. I see a lot of it at the hospital.”
“I see. I was only trying to speed things along. You said you were short on time, so—”
“Why don’t you let me worry about managing my time, Ambrose? You can relax and enjoy the meal. Okay?”
He tipped his head to one side, seemingly puzzled, but said, “Okay.”
“Good.”
By then a different waitress had come over to their table, and Carrie could tell by the look on her face that she’d seen Ambrose’s insistent signal.
“Are you ready to order?”
“No, as it turns out,” Ambrose said.
The waitress lifted her brows, and Carrie said, “Yes, we are. I’ll have the haddock.” She closed her menu and handed it to the girl, certain she knew her from somewhere. She’d probably treated her at the hospital or seen her at a soccer game or some other school function.
“How is the pasta sauce made?” Ambrose asked, reopening his menu.
“From scratch,” the girl—Wendi, according to her name tag—said. “Tomatoes, peppers, onions, garlic, rosemary, basil—the usual stuff.”
“MSG?” he asked.
The girl sent Carrie a look. Carrie shrugged helplessly, and then Ambrose looked her way, and she went still and tried to look innocent.
“I’ll have to go ask the chef,” Wendi said finally, and then she hurried away. Moments later she was back. “No MSG,” she reported.
“Hmm. That’s good to know.” Ambrose held the menu open a bit longer, then closed it and said, “And what about the pork loin? How is that prepared?”
The girl pointed at the paragraph beside the entrée on the menu and read aloud. “Made with an apple-mint sauce, and served piping hot and brimming with flavor.”
“That much I already knew. But how is it cooked? Baked, broiled, sautéed?”
“Nuclear fusion, I believe.”
Carrie choked on a laugh, then quickly pressed the cloth napkin to her mouth as if she really had been choking.
Ambrose blinked up at the waitress, not so much as cracking a smile. “Pardon?”
“I’ll go ask.” She hurried away again.
Ambrose shook his head and muttered about the quality of service these days. Carrie was beginning to wish she’d done what she wanted to do and stayed home tonight.
Wendi returned. “The pork is broiled, sir. No MSG, either. I asked. There’s no MSG in anything we serve.”
“Fine.” Ambrose perused the menu some more. For a guy who’d been set on the pasta and waving impatiently a few minutes earlier, he certainly was taking his time now.
Finally, as the girl stood there noticing that her other tables were in need of attention, Ambrose snapped the menu closed and said, “I’ll have the veal.”
The girl scribbled. “Is that it?”
“I think you’d better bring me a diet cola,” Carrie said. “And put a shot of rum in it, will you?”
Wendi smiled for the first time and nodded. “Got it.”
And then she was gone.
“My goodness, you would never know the girl is paid by the hour, the way she rushed us,” Ambrose said. Then he placed both palms on the table and looked at her. “But that’s neither here nor there, is it? Now that the unpleasant part of the evening is out of the way, Carrie, tell me about yourself.”
She lifted her brows, because he was smiling and, she thought, trying to be friendly now. “Oh, there’s not much to tell.”
“Of course there is. You’re a doctor. That’s fascinating in and of itself. And a single mother, too. Tell me, how did that come about?”
Mentally, she raised a steel wall between them. “By choice,” she said, her tone chilly.
“I’m sorry. Did I ask too personal a question?”
“Yes, you did.”
“I’ll try not to do that again.”
“No worries. I won’t answer anything that’s out of bounds.”
He met her eyes, and she looked away. “What about you,” she asked after a moment of strained silence. “What are you doing in Shadow Falls, Ambrose?”
“Just a much-needed vacation. We’ve been working particularly hard at the firm for the past year, trying to keep a handle on our clients’ finances in this volatile economy. It’s not for the meek, that much is for sure.”
“I see.”
“I doubt it.”
She wondered why she’d thought this guy might be interesting. Smart, she decided, did not equal interesting. “So you decided to get away to relieve some stress, then?” she asked.
“Just a brief respite to refresh my mind,” he said. “And I’ve heard the foliage here is something to be seen, so…”
“It really is,” she said. “But it won’t peak for another three or four weeks yet.”
“I might very well still be here.”
“Oh, your stay is open-ended, then?”
He nodded.
“Must be a very liberal investment firm you work for.”
“Financial planning firm,” he corrected. “I’m a partner. I pretty much do what I want.”
“I see.”
Wendi returned with Carrie’s drink, set it down in front of her and placed a basket of warm rolls in the center of the table.
“Excuse me, but I have to make a quick call.” Ambrose got up and moved away from the table into a quiet corner, bringing his cell phone to his ear.
Carrie took the opportunity to say, “I’m really sorry he’s so rude.”
“Oh, don’t be silly. It’s not your fault.”
“Believe me, I had no idea.”
“Blind date?” Wendi asked.
“All but. Listen, I want two more drinks—rum and Coke—but he doesn’t need to know what they are. I’m only telling you so you can tally up the check in advance. We won’t be ordering dessert. Bring the check the minute we finish eating.”
Wendi smiled hugely. “I’m more than happy to help you out, Dr. Overton.”
“I knew I knew you,” Carrie said.
The girl smiled. “You put three stitches in my head last year.” The girl lifted her hair off her forehead. “Softball bat.”
“Yeeouch. Listen, if I promise to slip you a really good tip, will you do me one more favor?”
“No tip necessary,” the girl said. “Name it.”
“I’d better not be driving, so would you call my house and tell my son I’m going to need a ride home, and to be here in one hour and just wait for me in the parking lot?”
“Sure, I’ll tell Sam. I don’t have your number, though.”
“Twenty-four, sixty-one,” Carrie said. She didn’t need to give the girl the exchange or the area code. They were the same for everyone in town.
“You’ve got it.” Then Wendi looked over at Ambrose again. “It really wasn’t a blind date?”
“No.”
“Hmm.” Wendi shrugged and turned to go back to her other duties.
Twenty minutes later the food was served and Carrie was draining her second rum and Coke, feigning interest in Ambrose’s diatribe on 401ks versus IRAs, and recent income tax code changes.
Fascinating stuff
.
Not.
She dug into her haddock with relish, mentally willing molecules of mercury to ride the airsteam across the table and rain down onto his veal. It was difficult not to shovel the food into her mouth as fast as humanly possible, but she didn’t want to be obvious.
“Refill on that Coke for you,” Wendi said, placing the third and final drink in front of Carrie. “How’s the fish?”
“Perfect,” Carrie said.
“And your veal, sir?”
“It’s a bit dry, but I didn’t expect five-star cuisine, after all.”
Carrie gulped the last bit of liquid from drink number two and handed the empty to the long-suffering Wendi, who took it with her back to the kitchen. She must have been sharing the date from hell tale with the rest of the staff, though, because even though the alcohol was washing over her brain at this point, Carrie was aware of the sympathetic looks she was getting from the other employees.
Ambrose, thankfully, was oblivious.
Nearly an hour later, finally, the meal was over, and Wendi was right on the spot, asking if they would like to order dessert. Carrie spoke before Ambrose, saying, “No, thank you.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Ambrose said. “Maybe we should see what they have to offer before making a hasty decision. Can you bring the cart around for us, miss?”
Wendy looked at Carrie helplessly.
“There’s no cart, sir. Just a dessert menu.”
Carrie sighed and turned her attention back to Wendi. “Bring us the menu.” While she held the girl’s eye, she tapped her glass. “And another Coke.”
“Sure. I’ll be back in two shakes.”
She was true to her word.
Carrie sipped her drink while Ambrose worked his way through a slice of apple pie, after complaining about the selection and quality of desserts the establishment offered. And finally, finally, finally, the check was delivered to the table. It included four “Diet Cokes” at five bucks a pop.
“That’s outrageous! Twenty dollars for a few sodas?”
Before he could say more, Carrie yanked the bill from his hand, slapped her credit card on top of it and handed both to Wendi.
He looked at her as if she’d grown a set of antlers.
Kiss Me, Kill Me Page 6