“Tell me more about yourself,” she said. “You know a lot about me, but I don’t know your story.”
“I disagree.” He washed lettuce leaves and handed them to her to shred. “One bad relationship isn’t your whole story.”
Awwww.She melted a little. So many people would make generalizations based on what they knew, but she liked that he didn’t.
“How about we take turns answering questions?” she suggested. If their outing earlier had been a date—and she hoped it was—she wanted to know everything she could about him before going further. She liked him, and she thought she could trust him, but the problem was, she didn’t trust her own judgment. That’s what had gotten her into this mess.
“Okay. You first.”
She worked through the list of information she’d compiled about him in her head. “You said you lived in the U.S. for a while. Which part were you in?”
“California.”
“Ooh.” Images of golden sand and beaches flashed through her mind. “That sounds lovely.”
He gave a noncommittal grunt. “It was all right.”
She shook her head, wondering how he could be so blasé about travel. When she lived in France, every day had been an adventure, although there’d been back-breaking hard work, too.
As if he’d overheard her thoughts, he asked, “Do you speak French?”
“I do.” She finished piling lettuce into a bowl and dropped bacon strips onto a sizzling pan.
“Will you say something for me?”
She turned to him, curious. “Why? Do you speak French too?”
“No.” He grinned toothily, and her heart gave an extra thump in response. “But it’s hot when women speak foreign languages.”
She’d speak French to him all day, if that was what got him going. “Je crois que je suis en train de tomber amoureux de toi.”
He shivered, and his grin widened. “Say it again.”
She did, translating for herself in her head.I think I’m falling for you. She wouldn’t let him know what the words meant. At least, not yet.
“My turn.”
“Nah-uh. You asked if I speak French, too.”
She gaped. “That doesn’t count!”
“Sure it does. You asked a question, I answered it.”
She huffed. “Cheater. Fine, what’s your question?” As she waited, she began to assemble the lunch options to carry them to the side table in the dining hall.
“Your dad.” He paused. “Do you remember him?”
Sadness flooded her, and she kept her face turned away so he wouldn’t see her eyes mist over.
“Not much.” Her voice was thick. Even though she’d never had the chance to know him properly, her father’s loss weighed on her heavily. “Just flashes. Short bits of memory.”
“Oh.Arohamai.I’m sorry.”
She forced herself to meet his eyes. “It’s no big deal. It was a long time ago. How about you? Are your parents around?”
“No. Mywhaeadied when I was a baby. I don’t remember her at all.”
“And your dad?”