quietly before them. It was an attractive dish—thin-sliced veal in a light cream sauce, with a vegetable potpourri that included eggplant, zucchini, peppers and several other goodies. “Thanks, Sue.” He smiled up at the waitress, who blushed and left without a word.
“Do you eat here often?” Nia asked, wondering at the familiarity. He hadn’t even bothered to look at a menu, yet a magnificent presentation had been made. Its smell was divine.
“Oh, several times a week—when we’re home. I don’t live far from here…and I’m not a terribly good cook. This is the special of the day. Is it all right for you?”
“It’s fine. It’s lovely! I’m just amazed. I mean, where’s all the backslapping and handshaking and basketball talk from the owners and other patrons?”
His gaze narrowed. “If I found that here I’d never come back. The owner knows that. It’s bad enough when you walk through airports or into elegant restaurants and someone recognizes you. It doesn’t matter how hungry or tired or rushed you may be—the public expects . That’s why I eat here. These people don’t . And,” he paused, lowering his voice, “that’s another reason I won’t let you write about me. I need my privacy.”
The force of his declaration led to a short span of quiet, during which they began to eat. Nia reflected on his feelings, wondering in particular about that privacy he prized so highly.
“Why are you ‘eligible’…Daniel?” Her question in part related to her use of his name, which felt pleasantly comfortable on her tongue.
His smile proved the rightness of it. “Yes, Daniel. And why am I ‘eligible’? I suppose because I’m not married.”
“I did manage to guess that,” she quipped facetiously. “But why not?”
He shrugged off the importance of the question. “It doesn’t suit my lifestyle.”
“Have you ever been married?”
He ignored her, proceeding to eat in silence for a minute. “This is beginning to sound suspiciously like an interview.”
“It isn’t,” she rebounded quickly. “I’m curious.”
“Naturally.”
“It is odd to find someone like you without a steady companion. If for no other purpose than to cook you private dinners…”
Daniel put down his fork. “The kind of woman who would interest me would have to be both intelligent and independent. Do you honestly think that that kind of woman would be content to sit around my house waiting for me to return at odd hours and odd days?”
“If she loved you, she might.”
“I’d never ask a woman to do that. It’s a cruel life for a married couple. You, of all people, should know that!”
Nia flinched. “A low blow,” she murmured, twisting her locket self-consciously. “But the blame was David’s and mine.”
“Is that why you despise the entire game of basketball?”
“I don’t. It’s just…just that…anything to do with basketball brings back painful memories.” She frowned, lifted her wineglass and sipped from it absently, then replaced it on the table and took a deep breath. “I should be over it by now,” she whispered, wishing she was, fearing that this man’s company complicated the issue in more ways than one. Not only was he a vital part of the world she’d religiously avoided over the years, but she had to admit that, quite involuntarily, she found him very attractive.
“How long has it been?” His gentle voice was soothing, another facet of that lure. Had he been boorish and uncouth, she might easily have lumped him together with her other reasons for disliking the sport. But he appeared to be intelligent, a true thinking man. For some reason, she felt that he could affect her emotions.
“Just about five years.” She faced him with a mustering of her poise. “We were married for nearly another five, most of which were difficult.”
“You were much younger than David, weren’t you?”
“Uh-huh. Fifteen years, to be exact.” It seemed perfectly normal to be
“Do you eat here often?” Nia asked, wondering at the familiarity. He hadn’t even bothered to look at a menu, yet a magnificent presentation had been made. Its smell was divine.
“Oh, several times a week—when we’re home. I don’t live far from here…and I’m not a terribly good cook. This is the special of the day. Is it all right for you?”
“It’s fine. It’s lovely! I’m just amazed. I mean, where’s all the backslapping and handshaking and basketball talk from the owners and other patrons?”
His gaze narrowed. “If I found that here I’d never come back. The owner knows that. It’s bad enough when you walk through airports or into elegant restaurants and someone recognizes you. It doesn’t matter how hungry or tired or rushed you may be—the public expects . That’s why I eat here. These people don’t . And,” he paused, lowering his voice, “that’s another reason I won’t let you write about me. I need my privacy.”
The force of his declaration led to a short span of quiet, during which they began to eat. Nia reflected on his feelings, wondering in particular about that privacy he prized so highly.
“Why are you ‘eligible’…Daniel?” Her question in part related to her use of his name, which felt pleasantly comfortable on her tongue.
His smile proved the rightness of it. “Yes, Daniel. And why am I ‘eligible’? I suppose because I’m not married.”
“I did manage to guess that,” she quipped facetiously. “But why not?”
He shrugged off the importance of the question. “It doesn’t suit my lifestyle.”
“Have you ever been married?”
He ignored her, proceeding to eat in silence for a minute. “This is beginning to sound suspiciously like an interview.”
“It isn’t,” she rebounded quickly. “I’m curious.”
“Naturally.”
“It is odd to find someone like you without a steady companion. If for no other purpose than to cook you private dinners…”
Daniel put down his fork. “The kind of woman who would interest me would have to be both intelligent and independent. Do you honestly think that that kind of woman would be content to sit around my house waiting for me to return at odd hours and odd days?”
“If she loved you, she might.”
“I’d never ask a woman to do that. It’s a cruel life for a married couple. You, of all people, should know that!”
Nia flinched. “A low blow,” she murmured, twisting her locket self-consciously. “But the blame was David’s and mine.”
“Is that why you despise the entire game of basketball?”
“I don’t. It’s just…just that…anything to do with basketball brings back painful memories.” She frowned, lifted her wineglass and sipped from it absently, then replaced it on the table and took a deep breath. “I should be over it by now,” she whispered, wishing she was, fearing that this man’s company complicated the issue in more ways than one. Not only was he a vital part of the world she’d religiously avoided over the years, but she had to admit that, quite involuntarily, she found him very attractive.
“How long has it been?” His gentle voice was soothing, another facet of that lure. Had he been boorish and uncouth, she might easily have lumped him together with her other reasons for disliking the sport. But he appeared to be intelligent, a true thinking man. For some reason, she felt that he could affect her emotions.
“Just about five years.” She faced him with a mustering of her poise. “We were married for nearly another five, most of which were difficult.”
“You were much younger than David, weren’t you?”
“Uh-huh. Fifteen years, to be exact.” It seemed perfectly normal to be
Similar Books
