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“Hmmph.” He stirred the coffee, for lack of something to do with his hands, and muttered something like “With you, they do.”
Mr. Sutherland had been beyond twitchy from the moment we walked into the diner. He was uncomfortable and not just in the “I’m around a large group of humans for the first time in decades” sort of way. The presence of each additional person seemed to cause him pain.
“You didn’t have to come in here with me,” I said, trying to keep my tone kind. “You could have waited outside, stretched your legs a bit. It can’t be comfortable being cooped up in that cubby.”
He closed his eyes as a family of five passed by, their rambunctious teens hip-checking and elbowing one another for prime booth space. While his eyes were closed, I whipped out my camera and pulled off a few quick shots of the family being generally rowdy and obnoxious to one another. In the frame, they looked loving, happy, comfortable together. It made my heart ache a little.
And since Mr. Sutherland’s eyes were still closed, his lashes resting on his high cheekbones, I took a few shots of him, too.
I had my reasons.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
“I’ll be fine in a few minutes. It’s just an adjustment. Besides, the last time we separated, we were set upon by rednecks.”
“Are you afraid for my safety or yours?” I asked, smirking at him.
“I’m not sure. I do hope Miss Scanlon wasn’t too upset about the trouble last night,” he said, watching me carefully. “I would hate for the incident to reflect poorly on your performance record.”
“Of course, she wasn’t,” I lied smoothly, as if butter wouldn’t melt in my no-good, deceitful mouth. “She understands that the unexpected can happen. I have some cash, and I’m going to use a company credit card for our expenses.”
“Oh, thank heavens,” he deadpanned as my turkey sandwich and spicy fries were delivered to the table. “I would hate for you to go without a feast like that.”
“Have you ever had spicy peanut-oil fries?”
“They were a bit outside of my time frame.”
I dragged one of the beautiful golden fries through a pool of ketchup with a flourish and popped it into my mouth. “Well, don’t knock them until you’ve tried them.”
He eyed my plate. “I have mentioned the vomiting issue, yes?”
“Yes, which is an awfully nice image while I’m eating, so thank you,” I muttered, chewing carefully to avoid talking with my mouth full. “So tell me about yourself. When exactly is your ‘time frame’?”
“Have you known many vampires, Miss Puckett?” he asked, leaning forward a bit.
“No.”
“Then I will excuse you, because you clearly don’t know how rude it is to ask a vampire how old he is.”
“You brought it up. I’m just trying to make conversation,” I said, shrugging. “Is it OK if I guess?”
He gave me a withering glare.
“Do you have any fun?” I asked, tilting my head and frowning at him. “Ever?”
“I’m sorry, but am I to understand that I’m serving as your entertainment?” He sniffed, those blue eyes narrowing at me.
“Not at the moment,” I said, grinning. “Come on, humor me. You’ve still got the hint of a British accent, so I’m guessing you were born there. You have very formal manners. Your clothes are well made and old-fashioned. So … either you’re used to wealth or you’re trying to make up for something you were missing in life. I haven’t seen your car, so I don’t know if that’s an insecurity that’s universally applied,” I admitted. “Your house is orderly, nearly compulsively so. You have a bit of contempt for, well, everyone around you. I’m guessing … Revolutionary War. You fought for the British, which explains so much about your personality. You’re still a little bitter about it.”
His jaw dropped, and for a beautiful moment, he actually looked discomposed. “You couldn’t possibly have guessed that. Did Miss Scanlon give you a dossier on me?”
I let him hang. I enjoyed this moment of him seeing me as mysterious and knowledgeable, something more than just the person who drove him crazy with fast-food litter. But then I caved.
I giggled. “You have your military insignia displayed on your mantel. That, combined with the accent and the cleanliness, let me make an educated guess.”
“I have to say, I am impressed.”
“I’m a people watcher.” I shrugged. “It’s just situational awareness, which is the one area in which I scored in the top percentiles in those personality tests. My high-school career-aptitude results recommended that I go into personal security or rodeo clowning, which my brother had a field day with, by the way. I got floppy red shoes as a graduation gift.”
