nothing left to say. Kate smiled ruefully.
Joe sighed, took her elbow in hand, and leaned forward to kiss her cheek. “Take care, Kate. But go now, or you’ll miss your flight.” He picked up her bag and put it on her shoulder.
“Thanks,” she said. “Seriously, Joe Firretti, thanks for everything.” She picked up the garment bag, pulled the stem of her suitcase. “Bye.”
“Good-bye, Kate.”
Kate started walking, moving through the glass doors into cool, slightly fetid air. When the doors closed behind her, she glanced back.
Joe was still standing there, watching her. He lifted his hand.
So did Kate. She smiled again, then turned away, walking on, feeling exhausted, a little queasy, and indescribably sad.
Chapter 7
The airport hotel was a little dingy, the room furnishings a little worn, but the only thing Joe cared about was that it had a shower and a bed. After he’d washed the last thirty-six hours from his body, he pulled on some lounge pants and ordered a burger, fries, and a beer, and settled in to catch up on sports.
But his gaze kept shifting to the window, from which he would see the occasional planes the scabs managed to send out over the red mountains of Phoenix.
Joe was not particularly proud of it, but a few years ago, he had been a real dog when it came to women. That was how he’d met Brenda the Travel Agent. She was nice, but turned out to be a little vanilla for his tastes.
Fortunately, their short dating history had ended well, and the girl could work some travel magic. He knew because part of his job had been to travel, and Brenda had always managed to get him home without much trouble. Uprisings, tsunamis, volcano ash, and terrorist threats were no match for her.
Joe was glad she’d gotten Kate into the last seat on the last flight out to Seattle. Glad in a non-doglike, adult way of doing something nice for someone for a change. So why was he hoping Kate hadn’t made that plane? And what sort of dumbass was he for not asking to see her in Seattle? He’d thought about it—of course he had—but that thought had been followed by a bunch of other thoughts crowding in and stifling it, like Why , and What’s the point , and Get a grip, it’s just a girl.
Yeah. A girl. A really cool, really good-looking girl. A girl who had somehow managed to make him sit up and take notice like he hadn’t done in a very long time.
Smooth, Firretti.
The sun was beginning to set, and Joe couldn’t see the planes anymore. Kate had obviously made it—her flight would have departed a half hour ago, and she hadn’t called. He closed his eyes and listened to the ESPN guy talk about the Phoenix Suns’ chances this season.
A knock on the door brought him off the bed. “Thank God,” he said. His stomach was growling. He walked to the door and opened it, then stumbled back a step with surprise.
“I hope you don’t mind,” Kate said apologetically from just behind the pink raft.
“No,” Joe said quickly. “You missed your flight?”
“Ah… rescheduled. First thing tomorrow.” Kate winced and put a hand to her belly. “I wasn’t feeling too well. Tuna fish, I think.”
His grin was slow but broad. “That was some rank tuna fish,” he agreed. “You’d better come in.”
She smiled and pushed the pink raft at him. “Thanks!”
He wrestled the garment bag into the rack behind him, and when he turned back, Kate held up a six-pack of beer. “I thought beer would help my tummy,” she said. “And you seem like a beer guy.”
“I’m going to take that as a compliment,” he said, grabbing her bags and pulling them in. “Where did you get that, anyway?”
“From the same guy who told me what room you’re in,” she said. “I have my ways.”
“Don’t tell me. I might be jealous.” He grinned at her and stepped back to allow her entry. “By the way, just what does a beer guy look like?” he asked as she slipped past him.
Kate paused. Her gaze dropped to his bare chest,
Joe sighed, took her elbow in hand, and leaned forward to kiss her cheek. “Take care, Kate. But go now, or you’ll miss your flight.” He picked up her bag and put it on her shoulder.
“Thanks,” she said. “Seriously, Joe Firretti, thanks for everything.” She picked up the garment bag, pulled the stem of her suitcase. “Bye.”
“Good-bye, Kate.”
Kate started walking, moving through the glass doors into cool, slightly fetid air. When the doors closed behind her, she glanced back.
Joe was still standing there, watching her. He lifted his hand.
So did Kate. She smiled again, then turned away, walking on, feeling exhausted, a little queasy, and indescribably sad.
Chapter 7
The airport hotel was a little dingy, the room furnishings a little worn, but the only thing Joe cared about was that it had a shower and a bed. After he’d washed the last thirty-six hours from his body, he pulled on some lounge pants and ordered a burger, fries, and a beer, and settled in to catch up on sports.
But his gaze kept shifting to the window, from which he would see the occasional planes the scabs managed to send out over the red mountains of Phoenix.
Joe was not particularly proud of it, but a few years ago, he had been a real dog when it came to women. That was how he’d met Brenda the Travel Agent. She was nice, but turned out to be a little vanilla for his tastes.
Fortunately, their short dating history had ended well, and the girl could work some travel magic. He knew because part of his job had been to travel, and Brenda had always managed to get him home without much trouble. Uprisings, tsunamis, volcano ash, and terrorist threats were no match for her.
Joe was glad she’d gotten Kate into the last seat on the last flight out to Seattle. Glad in a non-doglike, adult way of doing something nice for someone for a change. So why was he hoping Kate hadn’t made that plane? And what sort of dumbass was he for not asking to see her in Seattle? He’d thought about it—of course he had—but that thought had been followed by a bunch of other thoughts crowding in and stifling it, like Why , and What’s the point , and Get a grip, it’s just a girl.
Yeah. A girl. A really cool, really good-looking girl. A girl who had somehow managed to make him sit up and take notice like he hadn’t done in a very long time.
Smooth, Firretti.
The sun was beginning to set, and Joe couldn’t see the planes anymore. Kate had obviously made it—her flight would have departed a half hour ago, and she hadn’t called. He closed his eyes and listened to the ESPN guy talk about the Phoenix Suns’ chances this season.
A knock on the door brought him off the bed. “Thank God,” he said. His stomach was growling. He walked to the door and opened it, then stumbled back a step with surprise.
“I hope you don’t mind,” Kate said apologetically from just behind the pink raft.
“No,” Joe said quickly. “You missed your flight?”
“Ah… rescheduled. First thing tomorrow.” Kate winced and put a hand to her belly. “I wasn’t feeling too well. Tuna fish, I think.”
His grin was slow but broad. “That was some rank tuna fish,” he agreed. “You’d better come in.”
She smiled and pushed the pink raft at him. “Thanks!”
He wrestled the garment bag into the rack behind him, and when he turned back, Kate held up a six-pack of beer. “I thought beer would help my tummy,” she said. “And you seem like a beer guy.”
“I’m going to take that as a compliment,” he said, grabbing her bags and pulling them in. “Where did you get that, anyway?”
“From the same guy who told me what room you’re in,” she said. “I have my ways.”
“Don’t tell me. I might be jealous.” He grinned at her and stepped back to allow her entry. “By the way, just what does a beer guy look like?” he asked as she slipped past him.
Kate paused. Her gaze dropped to his bare chest,
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