“What do you mean? Mike is waiting for you, and you’ve been looking forward to this fishing trip since you got home from college.”
Thits time, Sherona noticed the uneasy glance Derek gave Chance.
“I’ll be totally fine,” Chance thought he heard her say under her breath. She looked at Chance. “Has he taken your order yet?” she asked, her tone not necessarily cool, but definitely businesslike.
“I ordered the special and an iced tea,” Chance replied.
She nodded once and began to move around briskly behind the counter. Derek hesitated, but seemed to take some reassurance from his sister’s unconcerned attitude about Chance. He removed his apron and walked around the counter.
“I guess I’ll be going then,” Derek said.
Sherona set down a pan on the stove and walked over to him. They both leaned across the counter, and she gave him a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek.
“Call me if you need anything. And have a great time. You deserve it, with a report card like you got—and for your freshman year, no less,” she said with quiet pride.
Derek gave a small smile and loped toward the front door. He gave Chance a guarded half wave and walked out.
He and Sherona were alone in the diner.
He thought it would be the right thing to do to approach her and say
he was sorry for what had happened the other day by Orchard Lake. He walked to the counter and sat on a stool. She showed no sign of having any interest in an apology, or with having anything to do with him, for that matter.
He watched her with increasing fascination as she prepared his meal. Her outfit was kind of . . . well, frumpy, to be honest: a loose pair of jeans, black Converse tennis shoes and a shapeless white shirt. Not that Chance cared. She could be wearing Chanel and the only thing he’d see was her glorious naked form glistening with water. Did she dress like that to hide the fact that she possessed the body of a Venus? The disguise might have worked for some men, but it didn’t for him. She could wear a tent and he’d find her sexy as hell.
She moved like she was doing a perfectly choreographed dance routine—open the refrigerator, grab a pan with one hand and a platter with the other, close door with a small kick, set down the pan on the stove, flip on the gas, slide the platter into the oven, open the refrigerator again, grab the pitcher of tea, scoop some ice into a glass . . .
It went on. She moved with efficiency, but also extreme grace, the props of her pans and dishes and cutlery precisely where she wanted them to be when she reached out a hand. By the time she set a steaming plate of meatloaf, mashed potatoes, gravy, corn bread and fresh steamed green beans in front of him, sliding a napkin and silverware down next to it, Chance realized he hadn’t spoken yet. Just like he had been down by the lake, he was completely mesmerized by her.
“Thanks,” he said, appreciatively inhaling the divine aromas wafting off the plate.
She stood regarding him, her former methodical whirlwind of action coming to an abrupt halt. She wore her long hair in a low ponytail. Now that it was dry, he realized it was an auburn color that nearly matched the russet color of her eyes. Despite her calm, unreadable expression, he saw her pulse throbbing rapidly at her throat.
“What do you plan to do with those photos?”
He blinked. Her voice sounded low and smoky, but there was a definite trace of steely anger in it.
“I don’t plan on doing anything with them.”
Her nostrils flared slightly and her brown eyes sparked.
“Then why did you take them?” she demanded, crossing her arms beneath her breasts. His gaze flickered downward before he gave her a glance that was both apologetic and droll.
“Why do you think?” he quietly returned her challenge. He sighed when he saw her stiffen. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. It was wrong of me to take them. Truth is, I couldn’t seem to stop myself. You’re very beautiful.”
They stared off in the silence.
He picked up his fork and sank it into the tender meat. He groaned in gustatory bliss a second later as he chewed. Did her lush lips tremble slightly in amusement? He set down his fork and stuck out his hand, hoping to take advantage of the temporary break in her irritation. She reluctantly put her soft, warm hand in his for a quick shake.
“I’m Chance Hathoway. I’m mates with Rill Pierce. I volunteered to do the photography for the Food for Body and Soul brochure. I understand I’m supposed to see you about the details.”
“I think you’ve seen enough of me.”
He laughed, his mashed potato and gravy–filled fork pausing halfway to his mouth. Her eyes flashed in annoyance, but he couldn’t seem to help his mirth. Her response had caught him off guard. “I haven’t seen near as much as I’d like,” he replied honestly before he wolfed down his potatoes. His eyes went wide in appreciation. “Your little brother was right,” he said after he’d swallowed. “You are an ace cook.”
Her defensive posture told him loud and clear he wasn’t going to charm her into forgetting his infraction.
“Look,” he said, setting down his fork. He didn’t want to make this offer, but he knew it was the right thing to do. “My computer is in my car. How about if I bring in the photos after I finish eating and you can be shot of ’em yourself?”