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‘Just a little persuasion.’ Cade tucked her hand inside his, completely ignoring her attempts to pull free. ‘Why don’t you just relax and enjoy the afternoon?’
‘Enjoy being dragged off to some... some posh restaurant that caters to the idle rich?’ she sputtered as he hurried her on to the promenade. ‘What’s so funny, Mr. Morgan? Who else could afford to come all the way out to a beach for lunch in November...’ Her angry words drifted into silence as Cade dragged her inside a large, rather barren room.
‘What is this?’ she demanded. ‘It looks like a cafeteria.’
‘Great deduction, Padgett. It is a cafeteria. And it’s not polite to stare. You don’t want to make all these idle rich folks uncomfortable. Do you want french fries with your chowder?’
‘French... ? No, no french fries.’ Her voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Cade, everybody here must be over seventy.’
‘Yup. I first drifted into this place about three years ago when I did a concert at the outdoor theatre here on the Bay. It turns out that senior citizens flock here diving the off-season.’ He tilted his head towards hers and winked. ‘They’re a nice bunch, but not exactly fans of mine.’
‘I’m sure that’s one of life’s tragedies, Cade, but...’
He sighed and rolled his eyes heavenward. ‘Jesus, woman, you can be dense! No one ever recognizes me here, don’t you understand? These people probably never even heard of the Marauders, so unless I showed up in black tie with an entire symphony orchestra trailing after me, nobody would even look at me twice. I can walk along the beach and stop here for chowder and... Look, why don’t you grab that table near the window while I get our lunch?’
She watched as Cade moved from counter to counter, accumulating paper cups and dishes on his tray. Her stomach rumbled at the faint smell of coffee that hung in the air.
The truth was that she was starved, but she wasn’t about to let him know it.
The nerve of the man, riding away with her as if he were a highwayman! She’d screamed at him to turn back, but by then they were starting across the 59th Street Bridge and the sounds of the wind and the Harley and the road all conspired against her. She’d tried, of course, leaning into Cade’s back until she was plastered to him, her mouth almost against his ear, her arms clutching at the hard muscles of his abdomen...
‘You see? Just five minutes at the beach, and there’s a glow in your cheeks,’ he said triumphantly, setting the tray down on the table. ‘Almost a blush.’
‘One hour, Cade,’ she said quietly. ‘One hour, and then I expect you to take me back to the city.’
‘Just dig in. I got you some french fries, just in case you change your mind.’
‘I won’t. I never eat greasy things. And what’s that?’ she asked, poking at a plastic-wrapped square of darkish cake. ‘A brownie?’ Her voice rose in disbelief. ‘Only a true junk-food junkie would eat something like that. It’s pure sugar.’
‘I told you/ he said cheerfully, sprinkling salt on both bags of fries, ‘I’m the gourmet of roadside diners. Someday, I’m gonna give them ratings. One star to four, only I’ll use antacid tablets instead of stars. Are you going to eat your chowder or do I have to spoon it into you?’
‘I never eat lunch. I have to watch my weight.’
‘I’ll watch it for you. Eat.’
‘Anyway, I don’t like chowder.’
‘Don’t like chowder?’ He stared at her as if she’d spoken heresy. ‘How can anybody not like chowder?’
‘It’s easy,’ she said, and then she sighed in defeat. ‘OK, one mouthful, just to shut you up.’ Quickly, she spooned some of the soup into her mouth and swallowed it. ‘But I’m telling you I don’t...’ A surprised look settled on her face at the sudden taste of the sea and she eyed the bowl warily. ‘Well, I’ll admit, that’s not bad…’
‘Eat,’ Cade ordered.
Her stomach growled in agreement.
With a resigned sigh, she began to eat her soup. It was warm and soothing, and almost immediately she felt the tension begin to slip away.
Maybe Cade had been right, she thought grudgingly, glancing at him from under her lashes. After all, she hadn’t had a thing since coffee break, and not then, either, she remembered suddenly. She’d been busy with a costume fitting. And the soup really was good. It was thick with clams and potatoes and chunks of tomatoes...
‘Did you say I could have a few of those French fries?’ she asked politely.
Cade grinned. ‘What I said was that one bag was yours.’
Shannon grinned in return. ‘OK, I give up. The chowder’s good and I love french fries. The greasier the better.’
He leaned back in
his chair and nodded his head. ‘Yeah, I thought so,’ he said with a smile. ‘You look like a greasy french-fry type.’
