“And after that comes marriage…” she said, recalling how the topic came about in the first place.
Emmitt nodded. “After that comes marriage.”
“Well then,” she said, “I guess we better earn more space on one another’s pie charts.”
Their waiter rested a leather bill case on the table. Sloane reached for it at the same time he did.
“Here’s one tidbit that will help you know more about mine,” Emmitt said, tugging the case from beneath her hand. “I never let a woman pay.”
The investigator in her perked up. Sure, there was a doting side of her that was swooning over his words, but that didn’t keep her from seeing the theme—Emmitt Duran had money. One look at that helicopter said it all. Just how had he made such a big purchase? Especially after buying a portion of The Homestead Inn. A place like that couldn’t be cheap. Heck, from what he’d said during the tour, the land they owned went on for miles.
Sloane might have gotten distracted by Emmitt and his three-steps-away-from-marriage idea, but she was getting back into the zone. And lucky her—the stage was already set. She and Emmitt had determined to get to know more about one another. A lot more. Which meant she could pry all she wanted without raising a brow.
And as Emmitt paid the bill, and then escorted her back out to his jeep, Sloane marveled at her luck. If things went her way, she could have this case cracked by Christmas. While a part of her very much liked that idea, Sloane couldn’t quite ignore the downside to solving the case, the part that caused an odd sort of sting in her heart: it would bring her time with Emmitt to an end. And the truth was, Sloane was just starting to enjoy herself.
Focus, Sloane. You’re here for a reason.
Yes, she was. An idea came to her as they approached the jeep. A nice-looking one—not the priciest, but it was definitely not cheap. He opened her door for her this time, and the odd thing was, it felt right. She’d felt very much like she’d been on a date with him that evening. It was a far cry from a business lunch, she’d say that much.
Once Emmitt was settled behind the wheel, Sloane tested the idea that had come to her. “Did you ever take a literary course in school? Or creative writing?”
Emmitt shook his head. “Not that I can recall. Writing isn’t really my thing.”
“Hmm. Well I did once I came to the states, and I remember learning about this thing called an info dump. It is where the writer has so much they want to tell the reader all at once—usually at the beginning of a story—that they word vomit all over the page, trying to get it all in there.”
He seemed to consider that. “So dumping information, huh? An info dump. Got it.”
Sloane clicked her seatbelt buckle into place, then spun in the seat to face him. “We have, what, thirty minutes until we are back at the inn?”
“Approximately,” he said.
“How about we info dump? Fill in more space on our mental pie charts. I’ll go first, starting with my love life, then moving right into my family. You ready?”
A wide grin broke over his face as he glanced at her. “Ready, baby!”
Her heart skipped another beat or two as she bathed in the way he’d called her baby. But she was quick to set her mind to the task, recalling the changes she should make in her story, and went for it.
“Okay. I have not been in what I would call a serious relationship before, but Ididhave two boyfriends in high school and another in junior high. Even though we were not all that serious, the last guy broke my heart, and I have not committed to anyone since. That is partly because I travel for my job, but since I am not anxious to be married by thirty—like so many American women—I do not mind.”
Emmitt nodded in the quiet pause. “Okay, okay, you’re good at this. How long until you hit thirty?” he asked.
Sloane gasped. “You dare ask a lady her age?” She made him sweat for a moment before waving a dismissive hand. “Kidding. I will be thirty in two months.”
Emmitt nodded. “I turn thirty after the New Year.”
“Okay,” she said. “It is your turn.”
“Alright, alright. Doing love life here, are we?” He exhaled a deep breath and rubbed his palms together. “Here we go. I kissed Kelly Rigdon in the third grade and have been girl-crazy ever since. I went steady with half a dozen girls in junior high, and then half that amount in high school until I found Sylvia. I fell hard for her, she broke my heart, and I’ve never loved since.”
A heated ache pricked at the center of her heart. He was wounded.
Stop, Sloane.She didn’t have time to get sucked in. She just needed details.
“You say you have not fallen inlovesince, but that does not mean you have been alone, right?” He was supposedly a playboy, according to the book he’d been holding anyway.
He’d started up the engine and was weaving carefully out of the lot. Already, the air from the vents was starting to warm. “I haven’t been in a committed relationship since then, if that’s what you mean.”
Hmm. This was a little harder than she thought it might be. Sure, he’d spit out a bunch of history, but what if he’d met Anna Fielding, played her for what she was worth, and sent her on her way?
