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“If you mean how many times I went out with my date, five times in two months. Satisfied?”
“Not yet. Did you kiss her after dinner and stay at her house?”
Tilting his head, he squinted at her. “My dear Lillian, don’t try to compare different situations. There are times when I went out just because I was bored and needed companionship. Other times because my friends insisted on introducing me totheexceptional person who should be the perfect woman for me—according to them.”
“You went out on a lot of such dates?”
He nodded, his jaw tensing. “Since Heather passed, I’ve had a dozen of these… We can call them encounters, dates, rendezvous, or more accurately experiences.” He spoke without emotion, but his lips thinned into a disheartened grin. “I followed my companion’s lead, sometimes saying a polite goodbye with a kiss on the cheek, at other times exchanging a more passionate farewell, and occasionally staying overnight.”
At least, he was being honest. With her it hadn’t been any of the above. No kiss-on-the-cheek goodbye, no passionate farewell, and no overnight stay.
He guzzled his beer and caught her gaze. “Now d’you think you know me better?”
“Not sure.” She bit her lip, debating how to categorize him—difficult to satisfy, still longing for his wife, womanizer, or…
“Admit it. We don’t know each other well enough.” He scoffed. “Maybe we should continue discovering each other?”
“How? Through questions?”
“Whatever suits you. Questions and answers. Or trial and error in experimentation.”
What the hell was he talking about? “Experimenting?” She winced, not eager to hear an answer that might annoy her.
“You’ve had your three questions answered. My turn to quiz. How many men have you dated since you stopped mourning?”
“I’ve never stopped mourning my husband,” she said primly.
He scoffed. “I’ll rephrase my question. How many men did you go out with?”
“Pff… I can’t even remember.”
His amused smile irritated her. “You mean so many you can’t remember?”
“No,” she snapped.
“Then how many? I was honest with you. You can make an effort and count them,” he insisted.
Damn you, Steve.
She shouldn’t have asked him anything. The waiter set their plates in front of them, scrumptious burgers on multigrain buns, with pickles, tomatoes, and quinoa salad on the side.
“Another beer?” the waiter suggested.
“No, thank you. I haven’t finished mine.”
“I’ll have one,” Steve said. Taking a big bite, he chewed slowly. “Delicious. Good idea, coming here. Now what were you saying? How many men?” He added with a sly grin.
Unease filtered though her. “I didn’t say anything yet, but if you insist, about four or five. Three qualified as kiss-on-the-cheek and goodbye.”
He burst out laughing. “And the two others?”
She shrugged. “What you calledpassionate farewellafter a few boring dinners.” She nudged the vague memories to the back of her mind.
Nothing worth remembering.
Nothing that made the earth move under her feet, nothing to compare with Steve’s incredible kisses.
