Celluloid Memories by Sandra Kitt Page A

briefly glanced down. Something in the shape of his mouth. Now she remembered.
    â€œYes, we have met before,” Savannah spoke up. She recited the day, approximate time and the circumstances. He’d rear-ended her on the expressway almost a week earlier.
    â€œRight, right,” he nodded, still staring at her.
    This time, Savannah stood still while his gaze made a quick but thorough assessment of her. She tried to read into his silence, as he appeared to be remembering the incident in full. She was prepared to go on the defensive for what happened that night, and for the way she was dressed now. Then she changed her mind. Why should she care what he thought?
    Another man turned down the aisle, his wagon holding not only food but also two very young children who were happily babbling to each other while their father shopped. He rolled by, his sudden appearance breaking the silent moment.
    The man took several steps toward Savannah and suddenly thrust out his arm and hand in a firm take-charge manner.
    â€œMcCoy Sutton.”
    Savannah wasn’t sure why, but she felt relief. She did the same, grasping the offered hand.
    â€œSavannah Shelton.”
    â€œWell,” McCoy said simply.
    â€œFancying meeting you here,” she added dryly.
    McCoy hesitated before suddenly breaking out into laughter. Savannah relaxed at his unexpected response, and didn’t bother hiding her smile.
    His gaze traveled up her, then down, and then up again. He lifted a brow as he looked into her eyes. “You don’t look any the worse for that night.”
    â€œI’m okay. There’s a small dent in my rear fender, but I wasn’t going to hunt you down because of it. And you?”
    He spread his arms open. “Not a scratch. Same with my car. If you send me an estimate for the repairs to your fender, I’ll take care of it.”
    Savannah, who’d had several conversations with herself about what she’d say to McCoy Sutton if she ever ran into him again, was thrown off guard by the sudden offer.
    â€œThat’s nice of you,” she said stiffly, “but I’m not going to bother. It’s a leased car. The dent comes under the heading of normal wear and tear.”
    â€œYour call,” he conceded. He pointed to her cart. “Doesn’t look appetizing. I hope you’re not finished.”
    â€œNo, I…” Savannah hesitated. An explanation would have been too long, and unnecessary. “No.”
    McCoy partially lifted his basket. “Friends for dinner. This is for the munchies-and-drinks part.”
    â€œOh,” she said. She found his explanation amusing. “Why not cater? Isn’t that what people do in L.A.?”
    â€œSome do. I like to cook. It’s therapeutic.”
    She was surprised by his confession. The man she’d encountered the night of the accident had hardly seemed the cooking kind. Behind McCoy, Savannah suddenly saw an absolutely beautiful young black woman approaching. She couldn’t believe that anyone would actually go shopping dressed as she was.
    Her straight and expertly shaped long hair lifted and moved as she walked. She was wearing an above-the-knee fashionable take on the shirtwaist dress in tan, cinched at her small waist with a wide black patent leather belt. It was unbuttoned at the throat to show cleavage. Her sandals were at least three inches high, with thin straps that wrapped around the ankles several times and tied in front. Her finger-and toenails were lacquered to match her lip gloss. She was dressed to be seen…and appreciated.
    â€œI was waiting at the raw bar. What’s taking so long?” she opened, tilting her head around McCoy’s frame, and smiling into his face.
    Belatedly realizing that McCoy had actually been in conversation with someone, the stunning beauty looked at Savannah.
    Savannah felt she might just as well have been invisible for all the interest she didn’t see in the