"We'll fix that." He tossed minced garlic into the hot oil. The scent was immediate and wonderful. The onion went in next, and she began to salivate.
He pried the lid off a covered bowl, slid shelled shrimp and scallops into the pan. She thought it was a bit like watching a mad scientist at work. A glug of white wine, a pinch of salt, a slight grating of what he told her was ginger. Quick stirs and shakes to mix all those pretty strips of vegetables.
In less time than it might have taken her to peruse a menu, she was sitting down to a full plate.
"It's good," she said after her first bite. "It's really good. Why aren't you in food services?"
"Cooking's a hobby."
"Like conversation and old cars."
"Vintage cars." It pleased him to see her eat. He'd decided on the menu because he'd wanted to get something healthy into her. He imagined her snatching junk food when she remembered to eat at all, snacking on antacids. No wonder she was too thin. "I could teach you."
"Teach me what?"
"To cook."
She speared a shrimp. "I didn't say I couldn't cook."
"Can you?"
"No, but I didn't say I couldn't. And I don't need to as long as there's takeout and microwave ovens."
Because she'd refused his offer of wine, he stuck with water himself. "I bet there's a place reserved for you at McDonald's drive-through window."
"So? It's quick, it's easy, and it's filling."
"Nothing wrong with the occasional french fry, but when it's a dietary staple—"
"Don't start with me, Byron. This is why I'm here in the first place." Remembering her plan, she got down to business. "I don't like people, particularly people I barely know, interfering in my life."
"We have to get to know each other better."
"No, we don't." It was weird, she realized, how easily she'd become distracted, and interested, and at ease. Time had slipped by when all she'd meant to do was give him the sharpest edge of one piece of her mind. "Your intentions might have been good, but you had no business going to Josh."
"Your eyes are fabulous," he said and watched them narrow with suspicion. "I don't know if it's because they're so big, so dark, or because your face is narrow, but they really pack a punch."
"Is that one of your reserved lines?"
"No, it's an observation. I happen to be looking at your face, and it occurs to me that it has all these contrasts. The snooty New England cheekbones, the wide, sexy mouth, angular nose, the big, doe eyes. It shouldn't work, but it does. It works better when you're not pale and tired, but that adds a rather disconcerting fragile quality."
She shifted. "I'm not fragile. I'm not tired. And my face has nothing to do with the subject under discussion."
"But I like it. I liked it right away, even when I didn't like you. Now I wonder, Kate," he continued, laying a hand over hers, twining fingers. "Why did you put so much effort into making sure I didn't look twice in your direction?"
"I didn't have to put any effort into that. I'm not your type any more than you're mine."
"No, you're not," he agreed. "Still, I occasionally enjoy sampling something… different."
"I'm not a new recipe." She pulled her hand free, pushed her plate aside. "And I came here to have, as you termed it, a civilized discussion."
"This seems civilized to me."
"Don't pull out that reasonable tone." She had to squeeze her eyes shut and count to ten. She made it to five. "I hate that reasonable tone. I agreed to go to dinner with you so that I could make myself clear, so that I could do so without losing my temper the way I did earlier today."
For emphasis, she leaned forward a little, was distracted by discovering that there was a thin gold halo around his pupils. "I don't want you meddling in my life. I don't know how to make it any more plain than that."
"That's plain." Since they seemed to have finished the meal, he picked up the plates and carried them to the counter. Sitting again, he took a cigar from his pocket, lit it. "But there's a problem. I've developed an interest in you."