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She opened her eyes then, dark eyes full of agony. “You are. I can tell. You’re a nice guy.”
Her implication served a twofold purpose. First, she was not nice. Second, he wasn’t her type. “You don’t like nice guys?”
“I don’t know. I’ve only dated assholes. I’m bad news.”
“So let me get this straight—you’re a horrible person who has few redeeming qualities, and I should be glad my coffee is not curdling in your presence?”
The corners of her lips twitched. “Can coffee curdle?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Then we’ll never know, will we?”
“I can add cream and see,” he said, softening his hands, readjusting so hers softened, too. Noting she clutched him, she pulled her hands away and cradled the cup in front of her.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know why I blurted all that stuff out. Guess seeing him today... it was harder than I thought.”
“Why would you be embarrassed? I understand. Going home has never been easy for me either.”
For a few moments, she remained silent, the clink of dishes and low hum of surrounding conversation the only accompaniment to Georgia trying to get hold of her emotions.
Finally, she lifted her gaze. “Why is going home hard for you?”
“Because my family never understood me.”
This time she crooked the eyebrow.
“My parents live in Southern California,” he said.
“And that prohibits them understanding you?”
“Sort of. I never liked that lifestyle. Instead I craved open spaces, sweat, and the creak of the saddle. I bugged them to go to rodeos... not Rodeo Drive, which by the way is my mother’s playground. To my family, work is not something to be done with the hands, it’s done with a handshake. So my life is alternative to them.” He smiled at his joke.
“I knew you weren’t from here. No Skoal ring on the Wranglers.”
“I haven’t been home in four years and the last time my mother visited, she called my house a cabin and asked if she could hire a decorator from Dallas to ‘make it livable.’ She stayed for a day before she escaped to a spa somewhere outside Austin. She sent me some nice towels from Neiman’s though.”
Georgia’s shoulders relaxed, and she picked up her sandwich. “I wish I’d had a mother to fuss over me.”
“Mine doesn’t fuss. That would require too much energy. She suggests, shrugs her shoulders, and moves on to buying that ‘adorable little Fendi’ she’s been eyeing.”
“Fendi? You know what Fendi is?”
“I carried her shopping bags for ten years. I recognized your Burberry jacket right away.”
“Well, you’re the only one. The desk clerk at the Imperial asked me if I got it at the Walmart,” Georgia drawled, her brown eyes finally lightening. “See? You cheered me up. Total nice guy.”
“That label doesn’t sound too sexy. My masculinity is taking a hit over recognizing designers and masquerading as Dr. Phil. I feel the need to belch and maybe spit... except Darla would box my ears.”
Georgia finally smiled, the sun emerging from sullen clouds. “Nice can be sexy.”
“In what universe?”
“The one I’m sitting in,” she said, her gaze dropping to his mouth.
Quick as fingers snapping, the atmosphere shifted. Gone was the regret, the naked admissions. Present instead was hunger, the same one between them from the first time they met.
“Can I walk you back to the Imperial?”
