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Sarah seemed surprised, then pleased. Well, she didn’t smile exactly, but her features eased a little.
“So, do good cooks run in your family?”
A glimmer of amusement touched Sarah’s face before she replied solemnly, “I don’t think Ange runs, and I prefer swimming.”
“I meant—oh, right.”
Huh. A flash of humor.
The meal progressed amid polite nothings about the weather, the tourists, and what had changed in past weeks. Sarah seemed to be relaxing, peeking at him every so often like she wasn’t sure what to make of him. That made two of them. He wasn’t used to women so aloof they could be mistaken for an ice princess.
He took a sip of water and eyed her. “So, Sarah, your accent tells me you’re not from around here.”
“No.”
He swallowed a smile along with his mouthful. “Where did you grow up?”
The green eyes met his warily. What had her so withdrawn?
“You don’t have to answer if it’s too personal.”
“It’s not that,” she finally said, glancing at Ange. “It’s not easy to condense into a sound bite.”
“Try me.”
She studied him a moment longer, then gave the tiniest nod. “Papua New Guinea.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes.”
“Wow.” He leaned back in his chair. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who’s been there.”
“I was a missionary kid.” She sipped her water, eyeing him over her glass. “My dad is from the US, Mum is from Australia. We left PNG when I was twelve and moved to Sydney, where Dad pastors a church.”
“So that accounts for the accent.”
She shrugged. “Growing up between various cultures always marked me as somewhat strange.”
“Oh, Sarah, you don’t still believe that, do you?” Ange protested.
Another shrug.
He studied her. He didn’t think her strange. Intriguing, maybe, despite the prickles and frost.
John motioned to Dan’s nearly empty plate. “Help yourself, Dan. There’s plenty more.”
“Thanks.” Dan served himself another portion of lasagna, then glanced at Sarah again. “You’re pretty lucky having family in different parts of the world.”
“I think it’s important to encourage family members to live in places one would like to visit, if at all possible.”
He nodded. “Amen.”
The rest of the meal continued with conversation with Ange and John, Sarah answering the occasional question in monosyllables. What was her deal? Was she shy? Proud? No, the self-deprecating humor suggested otherwise. He stole another look. She was pretty, with that milky skin and glowing hair, but seemed pretty cold, too. Glacial, even.
He was still puzzling it over when Sarah excused herself to go wash dishes.
“I’ll help you,” he offered, pushing back his chair.
