"Italian, of course," he says, and I'm thankful.
I prefer Italian too-especially the DeLuca variety.
"DAMN, THIS IS good," Matt says as he eats another forkful of lobster ravioli. "And you said the restaurant is nearby?"
Enraptured with watching him eat, I nod silently, but realize he's not even paying attention to me, so I answer, "Yes, they're not too far from here. Little place that doesn't look like much but is packed inside."
So packed, I drew quite a few stares as I went to the register and purchased the food, waiting for the bag to be brought out. I could tell they weren't tourists. They were probably wondering who the heck I was and not like I could announce it to everyone. I stood there, smiling shyly at everyone who was blatant enough to check me out.
This city, the entire area, has a very small town feel. I understood. Whenever a stranger showed up in Cactus, everyone went crazy wondering who they were. It set the gossips buzzing for days.
That's what I've turned into. I'm the girl who sparks gossip and makes people wonder who the heck I am. Even when I was trying my best not to get any attention whatsoever, it still happened.
"What did you get?" Matt points his black plastic fork at me. His eyes are alight with interest.
We're sitting at his desk just as he said, eating quietly and occasionally making conversation. These low sounds of complete male satisfaction leave him every once in a while, setting my blood on fire, but I try to ignore them. My dinner is delicious too, something I rarely indulge in because Italian food goes straight to my hips but who cares?
Tonight-not me.
"Mushroom ravioli," I answer just before I take another bite of crusty, warm bread.
"Are you a vegetarian?" he asks.
"Please, I'm from Texas." Oh crap. That was sort of a sarcastic and shitty thing to say. I need to watch my mouth.
"Really? I had no idea." He looks at me, his gaze intense. "Tell me more."
I shrug, wishing I'd never opened this can of worms. "There's not much to tell."
"Now I doubt that, Miss James," he drawls softly. "We're sharing a meal together so at the very least you could make polite conversation."
He's not going to let this go, I can tell. "Well, you asked for my boring life story so here it is. I grew up in Cactus, Texas, a small town with one stoplight. Wait, there's another, so make it two." I tap my fingers against my lips, trying to decide what I can and can't tell him. Not the bad stuff, which there's a lot of. No-good daddy, and a too-young mama who never stuck around much or seemed to care. Gruff, but lovable grandma who gave me lots of words of wisdom but wasn't the best at showering me with affection.
This is probably why I seek out love in all the wrong places. My head is just flat-out screwed up.
"I was raised by my grandma," I finally say. "My mom was real young and not around much."
"That's . . . too bad." He looks a little uncomfortable, like he doesn't quite know how to react.
Probably shouldn't have told him that, damn it.
I make a face. "Don't feel bad. My grandma is awesome. A real sweet old lady who makes the best church cake you've ever had." Sort of. Kind of mean, actually. She's the type that sits on her front porch with a shotgun and threatens strangers who come on her property that she'll shoot their asses off if they take one step farther. No joke.
My life in Cactus is a cartoon cliché of epic proportions, I swear.
Matt frowns. "Church cake?"
"Oh, you know. A big ol' made-from-scratch chocolate sheet cake that everyone at the church social can have a piece of. With some of the best, rich chocolate frosting you've ever tasted." I sigh, missing Grandma's chocolate church cake something fierce. Grabbing at a mint the restaurant provided, I tear off the wrapper and pop it into my mouth but it's a poor substitute for chocolate cake.
"Ah, now I see it." When I look at him oddly, he smiles. "Your accent. I heard it when you were talking."
I clamp my lips shut. I start talking about home and out comes the Texan like I can't help myself. "I left Cactus when I was nineteen, and I've never been back." And I don't really miss it either. I talk to my grandma when I can, but it's not like our relationship was super close. I had no friends. And I had a wife out to hang me by my hair for messing around with her husband though she thought we'd been up to much worse. She'd found out about me pretty quickly after I found out about her, and it had been such a nightmare dealing with her.
Thank God I never slept with him. I heard he got some other poor girl who worked for him knocked up, his wife promptly left him, and he ended up marrying the mistress.