She was smiling at him in a way that made him… uncomfortable. As if she believed she was the one winning.
He glanced down. She’d eaten most of her dinner and barely touched her wine. His plate was still almost untouched.
‘No, I’m fine with this,’ she told the maître d’.
When the man had gone, Oliver sat back and studied her. Somehow, she’d taken control of the conversation. He’d underestimated her, and worse, lowered his guard.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d talked to anyone about his love of sailing.
Her lashes dipped as she took a sip of wine. When she lifted her gaze again, it was sharp, probing.
‘You’re staring at me,’ she said.
He set his glass down. ‘Isn’t that normal when you’re having dinner with a friend?’
‘I’m a friend already?’
‘I hope so. I like you. You’re smart, funny, beautiful and, no doubt, if I give you the chance, you’ll be a good conversationalist.’
She laughed. ‘I enjoyed hearing about what you enjoy. It gives me a sense of you.’
Her choice of words made him uneasy. He cleared his throat and leaned forward.
‘So now it’s your turn. Give me a sense of you.’
Her lips pursed briefly in disagreement. ‘I’m not as interesting as you.’
He laughed. ‘You clearly don’t believe that.’
She laughed with him. ‘True. Oh well, I suppose it’s only fair. What would you like to know?’
‘Same thing. What do you enjoy?’
‘Oh, that’s easy. My life.’
He stared. It was rare that anyone surprised him. ‘Your life?’
‘Yes. All of it. Love it.’
‘So…’ He really needed to understand this. ‘You love running a café?’
‘Absolutely. What’s not to love? I’ve always enjoyed cooking — which is just as well, because no one else in my family is particularly interested.’ She warmed to her theme, leaning forward, eyes bright. ‘And then there are my customers. I know the regulars really well, and then I get the visitors. People walking the Escarpment Track, spending a day at the beach, checking out the artists’ studios.’ She smiled, her joy unmistakable. ‘I have all the world in my café.’
‘So there’s no reason to leave it, then.’
‘No.’
‘What else?’
She shrugged. ‘Family, friends, café. That’s my world, and that’s how I like it.’
‘No travel? No hobby that takes you out of your world from time to time?’
‘No.’
The word was short but heavy enough to tell him a guard had just come up. Miss Lucy MacLeod was not as straightforward as she appeared. Her world was curtailed, and there was a reason for that she wasn’t telling him.
‘Well, I’m not surprised,’ he said lightly. ‘MacLeod’s Cove is a…’ Inspiration deserted him.
