Page 21 of All of You

“Can I ask you about your family?”

His tone was quiet before he took a bite of his burger. The sight of the big meat and cheese sandwich caused a pang of envy I didn’t often experience since most industry people wouldn’t be caught dead eating a cheeseburger. A bite of my grilled salmon went into my mouth. Pretty good.

Ain’t no cheeseburger, that’s for sure.

“I can tell you about them, but probably not here, just in case.” My tone held caution—would he pick up on it?

Realistically, nowhere but my own house was truly safe. We’d have to save that another for day.

“Well, then, why don’t you ask me some questions, and maybe in there somewhere, I can find some to ask you?” He grabbed a fry, ate it, and watched as my gaze followed it to his mouth.

“Okay. Favorite food.”

“Burgers. Or anything my mom makes. You?”

“I have a typical sweet tooth. Baked goods. Ice cream. Cobbler. Oh, Lord, do I love cobbler.” I never ate those things, especially not anymore, but I did love them.

“Candy?”

“No. Not so much.”

“Well, at least you have that going for you,” he said with a smile, then grabbed another fry.

“Siblings?” I asked, then took a bite while he answered.

“Two older sisters. Bridgette is thirty, married, one child. My middle sister is Beatrice, but we’ve always called her Bea. She’s twenty-eight, an actual genius, single, extremely shy. And then, me.”

“All B names,” I said, far too excited by the discovery. “Is your mom Becky?”

He grinned. “Nope.”

“Bailey?”

“No.”

“Beth?”

“How long are you going to keep guessing?”

“Betty?”

“You’re not going to guess.”

He did a little half-smile with just one side of his mouth curving up, and if I hadn’t been distracted by the hunt for his mother’s name, I might have noticed the little flutter in my belly at the sight of it directed at me.

“Belinda? Babs? Barbara? Belle?” The smile grew on my face with each suggestion.

“Do you want to keep at it? Or should I tell you?” He seemed to be enjoying this as much as me.

“Tell me. Please.” I was leaning over the table, clutching my fork like a life line, then upon realizing this, relaxed my hold on the utensil and eased back into my seat—how had I gotten so riled up by that and been totally unaware of anything else around me?

“It’s Jane.”

“What?”

“Why are you so shocked? It’s a perfectly common name,” he said, even as he chuckled to himself.

“You said it was a B name!” I said, far too loud.

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