cell phone. “Have a nice dinner, Mr.—” She stopped briefly, then corrected herself, “Bryan.”
As she headed toward the door, he nearly asked her to stay. Only the prospect of a tasteless dinner kept his lips together. Maybe tomorrow he could eat before she arrived for round two of the torture, then he could stomach the healthy stuff. It would be nice not to eat alone for a change.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” she said.
He leaned against the door frame. “Okay.”
She was ridiculously cute. Her warm brown eyes were so clear and direct. Her accent and pert nose adorable. Staring at her across the dinner table wouldn’t be a hardship at all.
Those spectacular eyes narrowed briefly. “Are you okay? You look strange.”
He was relaxed, he realized. He felt…well, good.Of course, he wouldn’t admit that even under the threat of more yoga torture. “I feel fine.”
“Glad to hear it,” she said cheerfully, then she turned and walked down the hall toward her room.
He watched her go. Her hips swayed in an inviting way he was sure she wasn’t aware of. Or maybe all those months of celibacy were affecting him too strongly around a woman he was attracted to. He hadn’t been—
Hold everything. He was relaxed? She was cute and adorable?
It would be nice not to eat alone?
He slammed the door and leaned back against it, his heart racing. He liked being alone. What had the woman done to him? He was going soft. Falling into that dazy, silly state his brother and sister fell into when exchanging glances with their spouses. No way was he going down that road again.
Surely his condition wasn’t anything a bacon cheeseburger couldn’t fix.
He dived for the phone.
M ITCH G ARRISON PUSHED ASIDE the rest of his steak, cooked medium rare, just the way he liked it. He wished he could appreciate his son-in-law’s excellent chef, and his garlic/wine/something-or-other sauce, but he wasn’t very hungry.
“You okay?” Leanne asked from across the candlelit table. “You’re pretty quiet.”
He didn’t think I’ve been thinking about my ex-wife would be a good way to break the silence. Why had Barb looked so pretty in Daytona? So happy with that idiot florist?
“Just thinking about the weekend,” he said finally to Leanne. “Without the normal testing schedule, we only have last year’s data to rely on.”
She laid her hand over his and squeezed. “You’ll figure things out.”
Smiling, he pushed Barb out of his mind. Leanne McCrary Tew had a doctorate from a prestigious university. She was a community volunteer and a successful dermatologist. She was divorced, like him, and had raised a son practically on her own since her husband had liked cocktail waitresses more than home life. She was easy to talk to, beautiful and a big race fan. She was thrilled to come to the track, and whenever he talked about tire compounds or air pressure, she not only knew what he was talking about, she wanted to know more.
He was lucky to be with her.
So why didn’t he feel fortunate anymore? Why did he wonder what it would be like to reminisce? To talk about something that hadn’t happened in the last three months?
It wasn’t like Barb didn’t have a career. Hers was just a nonprofit thing related to motorsports. She was a vital part of the group, and they were always organizing charity fund-raisers that assisted women,children and families who needed medical or financial help. They worked behind the scenes of the sport, and everybody who lived and worked in the business was aware of their quiet, but effective contributions. Their fall fund-raiser was a big-time arena concert with some high-profile entertainers already on board.
Or so he’d heard from Rachel and Isabel. Barb made sure her daughter and new daughter-in-law were also included in the nonprofit’s projects.
When he’d been racing, Mitch had always been proud of his wife’s accomplishments and support. When had he stopped appreciating her?
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