Page 48 of The Fine Art of Faking It
“Thought you’d changed your mind,” Eden drawled.
Davis placed the two wine glasses on the white washed pedestal table between their chairs. With a flourish, he unpocketed the corkscrew and made quick work of opening the bottle of merlot. She watched his every move, guarded. Wordlessly, he poured. Silently, she accepted the glass he offered.
He considered it an even bigger win when she sipped rather than tossing the wine in his face. Companionably, he sat, relaxing into the chair and picking up the book. “What are you reading?”
Rather than snarling at him, Eden held up the cover of the binder.
“Beautification Committee? Are you studying up for your membership test?” he teased.
“Har har,” she said, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear. She was dressed comfortably in leggings and a long cardigan over a jewel-toned tank. Her bare feet were tucked up under her on the deep seat. A pair of soft gray slippers was neatly stowed beneath her chair. She painted the perfect picture of a quiet evening. Davis itched to paint her that way. “I liberated it from Eva’s bag when she was here last week so I can figure out how to stop their idiotic plans.”
Davis laughed. “Who’s the unlucky target this time?”
“Let’s see how funny you think it is when I tell you that you’re one half of their current target.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You and me, Gates.” She sipped again and gave the smallest nod of approval at the wine he’d poured. “They’re taking advantage of your homelessness and trying to force us together.”
“Huh,” Davis said, cracking open his book.
“Huh? That’s the best you’ve got? There’s an entire committee scheming against you, and all you’ve got is ‘huh’?”
Davis gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Well, you can’t blame them. Not only have our families terrorized this whole town for fifty-plus years, you and I are both ridiculously good-looking.”
Eden gave him a long blank stare before her laughter won out. It was a night of wins, Davis decided.
He shifted his attention to page one. “How did it go with Mr. Forgot His Anniversary this week?” he asked.
“Mmm, it’s safe to say the Mrs. is appeased and he’ll never forget another anniversary again. He can’t afford it.”
“I wondered when I didn’t see them around the inn.”
“They never made it out of their room,” Eden said innocently.
“Must have been some gift.”
Eden told him about the gift she and Wilson Abramovich had selected for the wife, a lovely crescent moon pendant with a tiny blue diamond. “And, if the bill for the jewelry isn’t enough of a deterrent, I also had a very manly leather and metal bracelet engraved with their anniversary date for him.”
Davis’s lips quirked. “You’re very good at what you do.”
“Thank you.” It was a simple acknowledgement of what she already knew to be true.
He sipped and gathered his wits to recite the speech he’d been waiting to give for fifteen years. He closed his book. “Eden, I never meant to hurt you, you know. I wanted to be at that dance with you,” he said.
He saw the shutters come down in the tension that tightened her shoulders. She turned the page in her binder, feigning disinterest. “Then why weren’t you?” she asked, picking at the binder’s spine.
“My parents—”
“You know what. Forget I asked,” she decided.
“I wish you could forgive me. I forgave you,” he pointed out rashly. This was not part of his carefully planned speech.
She gazed at him, her face a mask, but he could see the emotions moving fast and sharp behind her blue eyes.
“Youforgaveme?”
“Frankly, I deserved worse,” Davis admitted.
