Wound Up(51)

                “Okay.”

                The urge to ask why he’d just accept her answer nettled her, but she didn’t want to encourage this particular avenue of discussion. Grace didn’t lie about who she was or where she came from, but she also wasn’t inclined to lay it out for dissection by someone who came from a veritable treasure trove of emotional riches. Sometimes it was wisest to simply stick to life’s gray scale.

                Picking at a cuticle, she fought to keep her voice level. “How’d you end up in psychology?”

                “Long story.” He shrugged as if to say, Tit for tat.

                Glancing around to make sure Darcy wasn’t nearby, Grace leaned forward. “What are we doing here, Justin? How is it I ruin your life but still warrant pie?”

                He arched a brow and whispered, “We’re eating lunch, Ms. Cooper. My understanding is that colleagues regularly eat lunch together. There’s nothing nefarious in the offer that anyone, in the office or out, could find harm with.”

                “This isn’t just lunch,” she responded on a whisper.

                “It’s food in a diner at lunchtime, ergo it’s lunch.”

                One corner of her mouth twitched. “Ergo?”

                “Ergo. Now if you’ll relax, I’ll throw in that promised piece of my mom’s famed pie for dessert.”

                “I have five dollars, Justin. The burger alone is going to be more than that.”

                “I’ve got it.”

                “No, you don’t.”

                “I invited you out on Sunday—prior to our nuclear meltdown—and you agreed. We just changed the day. So relax. This was one of our prenegotiated items.”

                Caught completely off guard, Grace grinned. “Deal.”

                Justin reached over and tucked a strand of hair behind one ear. “Deal,” he repeated softly.

                “Burgers are up, Darcy,” Shamus called.

                And Grace couldn’t help but wonder what, exactly, she’d agreed to beyond pie.





                                      9

                IF EVER THERE was a moment of regret over food, Grace encountered it the second the last mouthful of the best chocolate cream pie in the world slid down her throat. She didn’t want the experience to end. Yes, it was pie, but it was amazing pie. It was silky and sweet and smooth all wrapped up in the lightest pastry shell with the tallest peaked cream on top. And now it was gone.

                Caught between the urge to lick her plate and groan from overindulgence, she glanced up at Justin. “Is it wrong to actually suffer remorse over the passing of a slice of pie?”

                “Not when it’s Mom’s pie.” Justin licked his fork before resting it on his empty plate. “She’s a freaking pastry master.”

                “I want another piece but I’ll die if one more bite of food passes through my lips.” Setting her fork down, she slid low in the booth until her head rested against the bolster. “You couldn’t have eaten like this every day. You’d be in a diabetic coma.”

                He huffed out a laugh and shook his head. “Nah. We didn’t get dessert very often.”