Love at First by Kate Clayborn

Author:Kate Clayborn [Clayborn, Kate]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington Books
Published: 2020-12-11T00:00:00+00:00

In a pinch, the jacket he had stuffed in his backpack made for a fine tablecloth.

It wasn’t the first time he’d had an impromptu sort of picnic in this spot, one of his favorites in the city—a stretch of beach that only took him about twenty-five minutes to get to on his bike, a route along Lakefront Trail that made for a good workout. Every once in a while, he’d stop here, sweaty and pleasantly out of breath from his ride, lock up his bike, and walk to one of the expanses of smooth, tiered concrete. He’d sit and unwrap some half-smashed sandwich he’d forgotten to eat during the day, staring out at a spot on the horizon and letting his mind empty and his belly fill before riding the rest of the way home.

But with Nora here, everything felt different.

In the first place, there was no need to lock up his bike—it was stowed away in the back of Nora’s car, the front wheel off to make it fit. In the second, Nora had no use for tiered concrete, not when she saw the open stretches of pale sand, warm from a day beneath the bright sun. And in the third, Nora—the maker of the best meal Will had ever tasted, sauce like a religious experience—liked to look at everything. The whole expanse of water, the city skyline, the boat slips, the sparse pockets of people gathered in different spots along the beach.

And because Will liked to look at Nora, he saw it all anew.

In between bites of food, that is.

“You really only brought one serving?” he said morosely, once he’d finished his last bite. The glass dish in his lap still had sauce in the bottom, and he was waging a desperate battle with himself not to stick his face into it like a dog.

She shrugged, smiling over at him. “It’s like I said. I didn’t want it to seem like a threat.”

He pointed at the dish. “You can threaten me all you want, if you bring me more of this.”

This teasing about their shared history—the little sabotages of the last several weeks—it was the closest they’d gotten to the subject of the building since they’d arrived, like a bruise they were both avoiding, save this occasional, soft-touch reminder that it was still there. He knew it couldn’t last; he knew there was some reason beyond a single dish of food that she’d come all the way here.

He even had a good guess what it was.

But right now, his stubborn, sated brain wouldn’t give over to thinking about it. Instead, he watched her wave her hand, saw her make a small noise of self-deprecating dismissal while the flush in her cheeks deepened. His mind prodded him with one compliment after another. You look pretty in this light. I could listen to you talk about making sauce all night. Your voice carries like a song out here.

He picked up the lid for the container, pressed it back on with more vigor than was necessary.

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