A Catered Romance (8 page)

She slanted a glance at him, but he was preoccupied, scanning the crowd. She let her breath out. Her imagination was definitely boiling over.

“So much for being less crowded,” Tom said, looking at her.

“At least it’s more of a controlled chaos.” She hoped she sounded cool. She couldn’t let him know his nearness had her insides tied in a knot.

“Looks like a long wait.” He steered her to the end of the food line. The line wound from the lower level, where the meals were served, up the stairs. A railing ran along the upper floor, allowing them to look down at the diners.

But Mary Beth’s attention was on Tom. Her gaze drank in his achingly handsome face and full lips. Memories of his kiss, of moonlight and pines, stirred her. She would need all her strength to get through this night with her pride, and her heart, intact.

He caught her staring. Their gazes locked. Blue sparks lit his eyes, drawing her under his spell like a moth seduced by the killing flame. Her cheeks burned.

He cleared his throat. “How about something to drink?”

“Sure,” she said in a breathy voice she barely recognized.

He smiled. “Wine okay?”

“Wine is good. White please.”

“I’ll be right back.”

He walked down the stairs toward the bar with an easy grace, his movements fluid. The muscles of his broad back rippled under his shirt. Her mouth went dry as her gaze followed him.

She clenched her hands at her sides as if she could squeeze away the attraction she felt for him. There could never be anything between her and Tom. Too many years and too much hurt stood in the way. She had given him her heart once and he’d thrown it back at her. She wouldn’t trust him again.

Minutes later Tom carefully made his way back up the stairs carrying two glasses. The slight smile he gave her reminded her of the young Tom. A sad yearning clutched her. She missed their friendship, the easy camaraderie they’d once shared. She tightened her jaw against this latest assault on her emotional well-being.

He handed her one of the glasses.

She took the drink from him and sipped it, staring at him over the rim of the glass.

A lock of black hair had fallen over his forehead. Her fingers itched to stroke it back, to touch the silky-looking strands.

She finished the wine too quickly. The cold liquid raced down to her empty stomach, taking her breath.

“Wow, you must have been thirsty,” he said.

Embarrassment heated her and she looked quickly away.

“Mary Beth?” He touched her shoulder, drawing her attention. She looked into cobalt eyes that held uncertainty and challenge.

A muscle worked in his jaw. “I know you didn’t want to come here with me. You’ve hardly said two words since we got in the car. You make me feel like I’m some crumb you can’t wait to brush off the table.”

He looked so sincere. She put her hand on his arm. “I don’t mean to do that to you.” She licked her dry lips. “It’s just that I’m nervous.” She couldn’t tell him the truth…that she was more afraid of her own growing feelings for him than she was of him.

His smile dissolved her control. “Forget it. Let’s just enjoy the evening. And the food. Even business associates can have fun together. Right?”

She fingered her braid, mustering her courage. It wouldn’t hurt to loosen up a bit. She was a grown woman. She could handle Tom and her own swirling emotions. “Let’s just concentrate on enjoying this sumptuous-looking food,” she said, throwing him a hesitant smile.

His gaze softened. “I always was a sucker for your smile.”

Excitement, mixed with a dash of fear, made her heart skip a beat. She glanced away to study the poster-sized menu hanging on the wall.

Twenty minutes later, laden with heavy trays, she and Tom wound their way between the large, crowded tables. The rich aromas of piquant grape leaves, sweet pastitsio, and spicy moussaka wafted up from her tray, making her stomach rumble in anticipation.

They set their trays on the red-checked cloth of a table occupied by a family of four who were preparing to leave. The young parents smiled at them before herding their restless children out of the noisy dining hall.

“Do you want another glass of wine?” Tom asked.

She nodded.

“Drink this one a littler slower, okay?” he said with a grin.

He reminded her of the young, carefree Tom she once knew, the boy who always made her laugh. She returned his grin.

He winked at her. “I’ll get the drinks.”

When he’d gone, she attacked the grape leaves, cutting into the succulent dark green vegetable and ground meat as if she could cut Tom and his disturbing presence out of her life.

But she didn’t want to cut him out of her life, at least not for tonight. She would forget her fears and allow herself to have fun for a change. It had been such a long time since she’d had any fun.

Tom returned and set a glass of white wine in front of her and another one near his plate. He pulled up a chair close to her and sat down. “Everything looks and smells so good.”

Mary Beth cut another chunk of food and popped it into her mouth. Keep eating, she told herself. If she kept busy she wouldn’t notice how close Tom sat, how his clean scent of soap with a hint of cologne tantalized her more than the food on her plate.

“These dolmades are so good,” she said.
Concentrate on the
food. That’s why you’re here
. Chewing slowly, she savored the tart-sweet taste, trying to identify the myriad of spices and that one special ingredient unique to each serious cook.

“Dolmades?” Tom said. “You mean the stuffed grape leaves? My favorite is this macaroni, cheese and hamburger stuff.”

Mary Beth laughed. “That ‘stuff’ as you call it is pastitsio. And it’s got a whole lot more going for it than macaroni, cheese and hamburger.”

Tom shrugged. “Hey, what do I know? I’m just a simple, unsophisticated guy.”

“I doubt that,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “You lived in New York City for years, didn’t you?”

“Just a few.” He slid another forkful of pastitsio into his mouth.

She watched him chew, fascinated by the movement of his jaw muscles. Wrapping her hand around her glass, she fought to keep from touching the smooth column of his throat.

“You were in New York more than a few years,” she said. “I heard you went to law school at Columbia then lived and worked in Manhattan until recently.”

“Have you been keeping tabs on me?” he asked softly.

“Wilmington’s a small place. People talk.” She sipped some wine, trying to fortify herself against the intensity of his blue gaze, an intensity that tempted her to kiss him, taste him, feel his lips on hers.

“So what do people say about me?”

“Just that you worked for some fancy law firm on Wall Street.” She stabbed the last of the grape leaves with her fork and slipped the food into her mouth. A full mouth would keep her from babbling.

“I practiced law in New York. That part is right.” Pain flickered in Tom’s eyes before he glanced away.

Jealousy cut through Mary Beth with the swiftness of a knife. Did Tom leave behind a woman in New York? Did he love the woman so much that just talking about the city caused him pain?

Fighting the unwanted jealousy, Mary Beth speared a piece of moussaka and pushed the food around on her plate, studying the layers of ground lamb, eggplant and potatoes. Tom’s love life, past or present, did not concern her in the least.

“The New York part of my life is over,” he said. Taking a long sip of his drink, his gaze settled on a spot above her head. “I had to come back to Wilmington to finish some unsettled business.” He shifted in his chair and looked at her. “My family needed me too.”

“Your family?” She popped the moussaka into her mouth. The mouth-watering food couldn’t compete with the delectable man sitting so close. She grabbed her glass and took a long sip of wine, as if she could wash away her dangerous thoughts.

“Mom and Dad are getting up in years,” Tom said. “Dad hasn’t been the same since the accident. They want to retire. My sister and her husband pretty much run the company, but Maureen is pregnant with her third and she’d like to spend more time at home. They’ve been after me for years to take my place at the company. I decided it was time to come home.”

“They say you can’t go home again,” she said quietly.

“They may be right. I’ll find out.” His gaze locked with hers. He looked vulnerable and unsure of himself. She wanted to glide her fingers over his proud features, to assure him he’d made the right decision. The truth nudged her. She wanted more than that, but it was just business between them. She could never allow anything else. Sadness pinched at her insides.

Around them children screamed and babies cried. Laughter and loud talk bubbled from nearby tables. Mary Beth barely noticed. She saw only Tom.

Their gazes connected. “Mary Beth,” he said, a question in his voice. He moved closer. Her breath caught. He leaned toward her.

“I’m glad I came home,” he said quietly.

“Are you?” She almost believed him.

“Yes.” He touched the corner of her mouth with his thumb. His cobalt gaze caught hers in a spell she couldn’t break.

“Mind if we sit here?”

Mary Beth blinked and jumped back, away from Tom and temptation.

An elderly couple, holding trays overflowing with food, smiled down at them.

“Please sit,” Tom said.

Mary Beth picked up her fork and began cutting the pastitsio. She forced the tension from her muscles. She had to get a grip on her vivid imagination.

The elderly couple sat across from them. The woman smiled and laid her hand over the man’s on the table. “You two look like nice young people,” she said. “Frank and I have been married fifty years. We wish you the same happiness together we’ve had.”

“We’re not a couple,” Mary Beth said. “We’re just business associates.”
Business, business, business
, she repeated like a mantra, trying to carve it into her brain.

“That’s some business,” the man said, raising his eyebrows.

“She is a bit of a workaholic,” Tom said, patting Mary Beth’s hand.

She kicked him under the table.

“Ow.” He winced. The other couple stared at them.

“Enjoy your meal,” Tom said. “Don’t let us disturb you.”

“Workaholic,” Mary Beth muttered. “Very funny.”

He leaned closer. “I love it when your eyes flash like that. Speaking of eyes, did you know the green of that very becoming top you’re wearing exactly matches your eyes?”

“Stop it right now,” she said. “We’re here to check out the food for my—our company—remember?”

“Okay,” he said, moving back. “You want to talk shop, let’s talk. How did you get into catering?” The intimate tone of his voice and his probing gaze gave the question a decidedly unprofessional slant.

“You don’t look like you want to discuss business.” She took a mouthful of pastitsio.

His lips tilted in a teasing grin. “Catering is your career, isn’t it?” His gaze dropped to her mouth. “But I’ll discuss any subject you want,” he said softly.

She tossed back the last of her wine and moved her chair away from his, trying to ignore the way her stomach churned at the glint in his blue eyes. Catering was a nice safe topic. She’d stick to that. “I majored in biology in school, but I’ve always loved to cook. I made meals for my college roommates and catered the parties we threw. I decided I wanted to make cooking my life’s work.”

“What are your long-range plans? Professionally speaking, of course,” Tom said.

She drew herself up and met his gaze. “Gail and I hope to open a small restaurant some day. Something exclusive where we can serve unique dishes.” Voicing her dream made her swell with pride.

He frowned. “A good goal, but it’ll take lots of work and most new restaurants don’t make it.”

She tensed. “We know that, but we’re not afraid of hard work and we have faith in ourselves.”

“I have faith in you too,” he said, smiling. “I didn’t mean to suggest otherwise.”

She glanced away. It was hard to remember he’d broken her heart once when he was being so nice and attentive now. Her emotions wouldn’t be taking such a pummeling if Tom were cold and arrogant.

Mary Beth looked at the elderly couple. They beamed at her. She managed a weak smile.

“Mary Beth?” Tom said, grabbing her attention.

She faced him. Damn, his eyes were so blue. It just wasn’t fair.

“Did you cook when we were in high school?” he asked.

She nodded.

“You never invited me to your house for dinner.”

“Invite you to my house? Get real. You lived in Chateau Country. I lived in a broken down apartment in Claymont.”

“I didn’t care about that stuff. I would have come if you’d asked me.”