The Chance (Thunder Point #4)(13)

But then he noticed Laine. And damned if all those resolutions started to grow weak.

* * *

Laine had a very nice dinner with her friends. Spencer brought his son, Austin, a polite and funny ten-year-old. She got the biggest kick out of Rawley, who did very little talking, but was constantly finding things to point out to Mercy. He asked if she wanted her doll to sit at the table with them, prompted her to scrape up red sauce onto her garlic toast, asked if she had drawn any pictures of him lately and wanted to know what movies she’d been watching on her hand-me-down portable DVD player. To the adults, he didn’t have that much to say unless he was asked a direct question.

Two days later she ran into Eric in the diner. True, she thought she might and timed the end of her run specifically for that purpose. And of course he asked about her little dinner party and if her car was running all right. Two days after that she saw him walking into the deli and she decided it was time to get a pint of Carrie’s fabulous crab salad. He asked how her car was running. Two days after that she saw him in the diner again and he asked her what she’d been cooking lately and...how the car was running.

She could tell he liked her. When he saw her, he brightened. His face opened up a little and she got a good view of that wide, white smile. He kind of leaned toward her to talk. He was starting to really piss her off! She was going to have to make the first move.

It had been ten days and five random meetings since he’d delivered her car. Then she ran into him again. She was going home from the diner, he was headed there. There was the usual small talk—weather, car, cooking—and she said, “This is getting really old, Eric. Why don’t you ask me out? Am I that unappealing?”

His eyes got round and his mouth fell open. “Huh?”

“Very eloquent, but for God’s sake, my car is running just fine, I don’t cook big meals every day but when it’s cloudy, dark and wet, I like soups, stews and casseroles, and I can tell you like me. I can’t tell how much you like me, but I’m sure I’ll get a fix on that in no time. So—we’re both new in town and we only have a few friends. You probably have more than I do, being in business and all, but since we get along, like each other, aren’t dating anyone else, why don’t we go out? We’ll just go eat something. Maybe we can talk about anything other than my car, like our hobbies or something.”

The look on his face was priceless. He was clearly stunned. “Sure,” he finally said.

“Friday night. And I’m not cooking for you. That hungry, desperate look you get in your eyes when you come face-to-face with my domesticity is alarming. I’m not looking for a man to take care of. Or one to take care of me, for that matter. But I wouldn’t mind getting out of the house for more than a run. And I haven’t been out on a date in so long... Well, you wouldn’t believe how long. I’ve been working. Then I’ve been... I’ll explain another time. So, Friday night?”

“Yes,” he said immediately. “Friday night.” Then he grinned hugely. “You asked me out on a date. You asked me.”

“I got very tired of waiting,” she said with a bit of superior impatience.

“I’ve never been asked out on a date before.”

She looked him up and down. Six-two, one-eighty and built, copper hair, the most enviable green eyes she’d ever seen, a little shadow of beard. Really gorgeous. Those eyes. God those eyes. “You big liar,” she said.

He shook his head and gave a shrug. “Not since the Sadie Hawkins dance in eighth grade.”

“But people fixed you up all the time,” she reminded him.

“That’s when you go to the same birthday party or wedding reception. That’s not a date. And if I liked the woman, I asked.”

She frowned in doubt. “Are you wearing contacts?”

He shook his head again, but he was still grinning like a fool. “A gift from my mother. So, do you like seafood?”

“I’m from Boston,” she informed him.

“I’ll find something. I’ll pick you up at six. Is seven too late for dinner? Because I have to—”

“Shouldn’t I pick you up? Find the restaurant?” she asked.

“Nah, you did the hard part, the asking. I’ll do the rest. And by the way, I’m glad you asked. Thanks.”

“Were you ever going to?”

“I think so, yes. I was being cautious. Not for my sake. For yours.”

“Hmm. You’ll tell me more about that at dinner.”

“Fair enough. And you can tell me about the exciting world of research.”

She shook her head. “I really want you awake on this, our first date.”

* * *

Laine was very good at not overthinking things; she rarely found herself dwelling. On the Friday of her date, she dismissed it from her mind and focused on other things—a computer search for the right new rug for in front of the fireplace in her bedroom. She read a few chapters from a book she’d been into, put in a call to Pax and did a load of laundry. She was highly trained and knew how to place focus exactly where she wanted it. She had proven herself disciplined long ago—it was especially important in deep cover.

She could manage not to think about the fact that she hadn’t been on a date in a year and a half. How the devil had it been that long?