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He gave her a half smile, pleased. "Well, we're all gussied up so I reckon we should do something about it."
"What?" Her voice was breathless; her eyes shone as soft as purple irises.
"Enjoy the sunset."
"I'd like that." She made a move toward the railing and he stopped her.
"No, Isabel. This way." Her hand still clasped in his, he guided her to the table with its flickering amber globe and red oil lantern. "We'll have dinner, then we can do whatever you like." He held a chair out for her.
With indecision, she paused. Her tone was low when she said, "But we don't have any berries to pay for this…"
"They don't take berries here. Only money. And I had some. Enough for the room and clothes. And the dinner."
He thought back to Monday when his paycheck had been wearing a dent in his wallet, waiting for him to drink it away. He'd left the bar early and hadn't spent a cent since the contest began. A damn good thing. He wanted to give Isabel a night she'd never forget.
"If you're sure," she murmured, then let him help her sit.
Rounding the table, he sat across from her. "I'm sure."
The last vestiges of the sun were slipping into the ocean and the air felt soft. For a December evening, only a slight chill surrounded them.
Everything had to be perfect for Isabel. He didn't want to mess it up. He'd never wooed a woman and really meant it before.
She glanced at him, the fiery sunset shimmering off her hair.
He remembered something.
"S'cuse me," he said in a rush as he yanked his hat off and plopped it beneath the table. "I forgot I had it on."
Her laughter sounded as silky at the palm fronds. "You're forgiven."
He could tell she was making light of him. But he didn't care.
A waiter came to the table with a tray carrying a pitcher and two glasses. He bowed and set the table.
"For the señorita," he said as he poured sangria for Isabel.
Then to John he said, "Señor."
John nodded, watching the sliced oranges spill into his glass along with the red wine.
Isabel didn't take a sip until John grasped his glass. Gazing into its depths, he could have sworn he saw a golf ball. Knitting his brows together, he gave the wine a swirl. What he thought had been a ball turned out to be an orange slice. But he would have made a bet there was a golf ball in his drink.
A warmth filled him… a kind of peace. Even though it was unsettling, he didn't feel as if he needed the liquor. He'd gone without and had craved a stiff drink for days. Now that he had one… he didn't have the need.
He lifted his eyes to Isabel's. "You go ahead. I quit drinking."
Curiosity caught the corners of her mouth. "You did?"
"Yeah, only I didn't know it until now."
"Then I won't have any."
He reached out and laid a hand on her wrist. "No. Have some of the sangria if you want it."
"It's all right"
She set her glass aside as four men playing instruments strolled toward them from the hotel. Reaching the table, they gave John a nod, then began singing.
