Page 12 of Just One More Moment

She took in the glory of the ultra-modern kitchen with white cabinets and stainless-steel appliances, all top of the line, of course. She helped him bring the boxes of food—not into the adjoining dining room—but to the oversized living room with comfortable-looking furniture.

He instructed her to set them on the table in front of the taupe-colored sofa and wood-glossed table, then returned to the kitchen for glasses.

While he was gone, she opened the tops of the white cartons, careful not to spill the contents on his table, though clearly it wouldn’t bother him since they were eating so casually.

“Wine, beer, soda or water?” he called out.

“Soda is fine, thanks.” Though she’d love a stronger drink to get through this talk, she wanted to be sober and aware of what she told him.

He returned, putting two cans of soda on the table, and put the ice-filled glasses on coasters. Once again, he disappeared into the kitchen, returning with stoneware plates, forks, knives, and napkins.

“There. All set.” He sat beside her on the comfy, sectional. His thigh grazed hers but he didn’t shift or move away. Neither did she.

He picked up each entrée and asked her if she wanted some, filling her plate as she nodded, only passing on one dish.

“You don’t like shrimp?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I love shrimp but it gives me a ridiculous stomachache.”

“Noted,” he said, as if he’d need the information for the future. Which made no sense to her.

Still, they ate in comfortable silence and again, she appreciated his sensitivity in letting her finish the delicious meal before pressing her for answers.

“That was so good,” she said, placing her dish on the table and leaning against the back cushion.

“It was,” he agreed. “It’s my favorite restaurant.”

She smiled. “Well, good choice and thank you.”

“My pleasure.” The words rolled off his tongue, causing her body to heat with awareness.

Knowing her response could only lead to trouble, she needed distance. “I’ll just clean up.” She began to stand but he put a hand on her thigh. “Stay here. I’ll take care of the mess later.”

“But—”

“No.”

She sighed, knowing he wasn’t going to relent. “Okay. I take it now that you fed me, you want to know what went on between me and Caleb earlier?” She pushed herself back, turning so now her knees brushed his thighs and she faced him.

“Actually, I thought we’d open our fortune cookies.”

She blinked in surprise. This man never said or did what she expected. “I love fortune cookies,” she murmured. “Caleb and I used to read ours to each other when we were kids.” She recalled the happy memory with a smile. There weren’t all that many.

She glanced up and caught Remy studying her with interest, making her feel like he saw too much.

He reached over, lifted the two wrapped cookies from the table, and held them in the palm of his hand. “Pick yours.”

She chose one and they ripped open their clear cellophane. She broke her cookie and pulled out the white note.

“You read first,” Remy said.

She flattened the paper in her lap. A quick glance had her wanting to groan but there was no way out of it. “The man or woman you desire feels the same about you.”

He gave a low growl—of what, she wondered. Approval? Agreement? Either way, the sound rumbled from his chest and suddenly, the need she’d banked along with the memories of Remy deep inside her surfaced. “Who makes these things up?” she asked, shifting uncomfortably in her seat.

“Someone who believes in taking chances?” he asked, his gaze hot on hers.

“Read yours,” she muttered, hoping it was a lot more generic.

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