"I know Cassie's number." It was demoralizing to realize she had to take a good, deep breath to steady herself, when he was just standing there, so coolly, so easily. "What's going on here, Jared? We both know dinner isn't necessary."
His stomach twisted into tight slick knots. He could take her. Right here, right now. It was just that simple. And anything too simple was suspect.
"I'd like to have dinner with you, Savannah. And conversation." Picking up the phone, he dialed Cas-sie's number himself, held out the receiver. "All right?"
Filled with mistrust, she hesitated. With a shrug, she took the phone. "All right."
The restaurant was casual, the menu basic American grill. Savannah toyed with her drink and waited for Jared's next move.
"So, you make clothes."
"Sometimes."
Smiling, he leaned back in the wooden booth. "Sometimes?" he repeated, looking at her expectantly.
He wanted to make conversation, she determined. She could make conversation. "I learned because homemade is cheaper than store-bought, and I didn't want to be naked. Now I make something now and again because I enjoy it."
"But you make your living as an illustrator, not as a seamstress."
"I like to work with color, and design. I got lucky."
"Lucky?"
Wary of the friendly probing, she moved her shoulders. "You don't want the story of my life, Jared."
"But I do." He smiled at the waitress who set their meals in front of them. "Start anywhere," he said invitingly.
She shook her head, cut into the spicy blackened chicken he'd recommended. "You've lived here all your life, haven't you?"
"That's right."
"Big family, old friends and neighbors. Roots."
"Yeah."
"I'm going to give my son roots. Not just a roof over his head, but roots."
He was silent for a moment. There had been a fierceness in her voice, a fiery determination, that he had to admire, even as he wondered at it. "Why here?"
"Because it's not the West. That's first. I wanted to get away from the dust, the plains, and all those sunbaked little towns. That was for me," she admitted. "I've been moving east for ten years. This seemed far enough."
When he said nothing, she relaxed a little. It was difficult to combat that quiet way he had of listening. "I didn't want the city for Bryan. But I wanted to give him a sense of belonging, of..."
"Community?"
"Yeah. Small town, kids, people who'd get to know him by name. But I still wanted a little distance. That was for me again. And..."
"And?"
"I was drawn here," she said at length. "Maybe it's the mysticism in my blood and my heritage, but I felt—I knew that this would be home. The land, the hills. The woods. Your woods called to me." Amused at herself, she smiled. "How's that for weird?"
"They've called to me all my life," Jared said, so simply her smile faded. "I could never be happy anywhere else. I moved to the city because it seemed practical. And small towns and long walks through the woods weren't my ex-wife's style."
If he could probe, so could she. "Why did you marry her?"
"Because it seemed practical." Now it was his turn to wince. "Which doesn't say much for either of us. We were reasonably attracted, respected each other, and entered into a very civilized, intelligent and totally passionless contract of marriage. Two years later, we had a very civilized, intelligent and totally passionless divorce."
It was difficult, all but impossible, to visualize the man who had kissed her being passionless about anything. "No blood spilled?"