“That’s such a wide area. It seems like quite a distance to travel simply for dessert.”
“I don’t mind the distance; it’s worth it. But mostly I create my own versions of old recipes in my home.”
“So you cook?” she asked.
“Some,” he said, and she could tell he was being modest. It made her smile.
“I bet you’re fiendishly good at it,” she said with a laugh. “Meanwhile, I’m lucky if I don’t burn soup.”
“I’m sure that’s not true,” he said with an admonishing tone.
“I wish it weren’t. I am afraid I’m just too impatient to be a cook. I want it hot and ready and I want it now. Fast. I don’t want to wait for it.”
“You are the reason we have fast food places. I am surprised you eat naturally and don’t spend your time in a drive-through.”
“Luckily I’m satisfied with a salad with a little grilled chicken on it or a stir-fry. I know a few casserole recipes that are easy enough, and they allow me to do other things while I’m waiting for them to be done. I have a griller that grills two sides of something at once, cutting the cook time in half. I make my way.”
“I must cook for you sometime,” he said. “My skill is moderate, but at least it will be better than your idea of cooking.”
She chuckled. It didn’t escape her that he was already trying to finagle more time with her in the future. Suddenly something occurred to her.
“Wait, I don’t even know your name!” Some detective she was!
He lifted a brow in surprise, then chuckled. “We have been remiss.” He came to a stop and took her hand in his. With a very Old World bow he kissed the back of her hand, his eyes engaged with hers the whole time. “Rafe DaSilva, at your service,” he said, using his hold on her hand to draw her in closer, so that their bodies were lightly touching. “And will you tell me your name or shall you remain a woman of mystery?”
She laughed at that, a little awkwardly as the nearness of him penetrated her from head to toe. Her breath quickened as she realized she was close enough to see inside of him…or so it felt. She flushed, becoming very aware of him. But he wasn’t overbearing. Simply elegant and charming. Two things she wasn’t used to finding in the average New York male. But he wasn’t exactly from New York. Not born and bred anyway. It was, perhaps, a nice change of pace.
“My name is Renee,” she said, and she knew they were both aware of the fact that she did not offer him a surname. She moved away from him slowly and deliberately, her hands pulling free of his and reaching to grip the handle of her shopping cart. She pushed ahead though she was a little blind to what was on the shelves.
You have to be careful, Renee, she lectured herself. He may be handsome and engaging, but he is still a stranger. Ted Bundy was handsome and engaging and look what happened to the women who met him.
Then again, there were never any guarantees. Anyone could be dangerous given the right circumstances. She would simply have to trust her judgment. And her judgment was telling her that he had the potential to be, as he had already confessed to her, a dangerous man under the right circumstances. The question was, did she want to be around long enough to find out what those circumstances might be?
The answer was yes. Her heart raced even as she thought it, knowing how foolish she was. She had never gone for the bad boy type before. She had always stayed with nice, safe men.
Well, maybe that was why she was still alone in her life. Maybe that was why she grew tired of whom she was with rather quickly.
However, she wasn’t entirely stupid.
“Smile,” she said, lifting up her phone and snapping a quick photo of him. Before he could work up a protest she had sent a text to Emily with the photo attached.
Look what I found in the grocery store! His name is Rafe DaSilva. Going out to dinner. Call later with details.
Emily texted back almost immediately.
Jealous!
She should have known her adventurous friend wouldn’t see anything wrong with going to dinner with a total stranger. Renee was still trying to be all right with it herself. There were so many variables.
“Feel better now?” he asked, amusement in his tone.
“A little. This way when you chop me up into little pieces they know who to look for.”
He laughed at that, a full-throated sound that tickled her. “Don’t worry. My saw is still dull from the last time.”
She chuckled at that then pushed her cart forward and continued shopping. It was sometime later before she said, “You know, there’s a great little organic café at the end of this road.”
“Is there?” he asked, raising a brow.
“Instead of going all the way into the city.”
“Afraid to get into a car with me?” he asked knowingly.
“Not afraid. I can handle myself,” she said, the weight of her weapon on her belt clip reinforcing that belief.
“All right. Do you live nearby?”
“Within walking distance. What about you?”
“I live in Midtown.”
“Then why are you shopping here?”
“I was here on business. It happened to be close. As you know, grocery stores aren’t all that abundant in Midtown.”
“No. Not like they are here, in any event.”
“Besides, it turns out this store has much more to offer,” he said meaningfully.
She smiled. She picked up a jar of applesauce and inspected the ingredients.
“You can eat this. It contains only apples and water.”
He took the jar from her and inspected it. “True. But I prefer to make my own. I make it with cinnamon.”
She raised a brow at him. “You make your own applesauce?”
“When I can. I can a lot of my own fruits and vegetables, though I prefer fresh. Still, there are times of the year when certain things are unavailable. For instance, pumpkin. You only find that readily available in the fall.”
“I am pretty impressed that you know how to can your own vegetables.”
He shrugged. “Canning is simple once you get the hang of it.”
“I suppose you’ll make your own baby food when you have kids? That is…unless you already have kids.”
“No. I have no children.”
They reached the checkout shortly after that. She had purchased much more than he had and her groceries were more urgent what with her having bought ice cream—a purchase that had made him chuckle.
“I don’t mind the distance; it’s worth it. But mostly I create my own versions of old recipes in my home.”
“So you cook?” she asked.
“Some,” he said, and she could tell he was being modest. It made her smile.
“I bet you’re fiendishly good at it,” she said with a laugh. “Meanwhile, I’m lucky if I don’t burn soup.”
“I’m sure that’s not true,” he said with an admonishing tone.
“I wish it weren’t. I am afraid I’m just too impatient to be a cook. I want it hot and ready and I want it now. Fast. I don’t want to wait for it.”
“You are the reason we have fast food places. I am surprised you eat naturally and don’t spend your time in a drive-through.”
“Luckily I’m satisfied with a salad with a little grilled chicken on it or a stir-fry. I know a few casserole recipes that are easy enough, and they allow me to do other things while I’m waiting for them to be done. I have a griller that grills two sides of something at once, cutting the cook time in half. I make my way.”
“I must cook for you sometime,” he said. “My skill is moderate, but at least it will be better than your idea of cooking.”
She chuckled. It didn’t escape her that he was already trying to finagle more time with her in the future. Suddenly something occurred to her.
“Wait, I don’t even know your name!” Some detective she was!
He lifted a brow in surprise, then chuckled. “We have been remiss.” He came to a stop and took her hand in his. With a very Old World bow he kissed the back of her hand, his eyes engaged with hers the whole time. “Rafe DaSilva, at your service,” he said, using his hold on her hand to draw her in closer, so that their bodies were lightly touching. “And will you tell me your name or shall you remain a woman of mystery?”
She laughed at that, a little awkwardly as the nearness of him penetrated her from head to toe. Her breath quickened as she realized she was close enough to see inside of him…or so it felt. She flushed, becoming very aware of him. But he wasn’t overbearing. Simply elegant and charming. Two things she wasn’t used to finding in the average New York male. But he wasn’t exactly from New York. Not born and bred anyway. It was, perhaps, a nice change of pace.
“My name is Renee,” she said, and she knew they were both aware of the fact that she did not offer him a surname. She moved away from him slowly and deliberately, her hands pulling free of his and reaching to grip the handle of her shopping cart. She pushed ahead though she was a little blind to what was on the shelves.
You have to be careful, Renee, she lectured herself. He may be handsome and engaging, but he is still a stranger. Ted Bundy was handsome and engaging and look what happened to the women who met him.
Then again, there were never any guarantees. Anyone could be dangerous given the right circumstances. She would simply have to trust her judgment. And her judgment was telling her that he had the potential to be, as he had already confessed to her, a dangerous man under the right circumstances. The question was, did she want to be around long enough to find out what those circumstances might be?
The answer was yes. Her heart raced even as she thought it, knowing how foolish she was. She had never gone for the bad boy type before. She had always stayed with nice, safe men.
Well, maybe that was why she was still alone in her life. Maybe that was why she grew tired of whom she was with rather quickly.
However, she wasn’t entirely stupid.
“Smile,” she said, lifting up her phone and snapping a quick photo of him. Before he could work up a protest she had sent a text to Emily with the photo attached.
Look what I found in the grocery store! His name is Rafe DaSilva. Going out to dinner. Call later with details.
Emily texted back almost immediately.
Jealous!
She should have known her adventurous friend wouldn’t see anything wrong with going to dinner with a total stranger. Renee was still trying to be all right with it herself. There were so many variables.
“Feel better now?” he asked, amusement in his tone.
“A little. This way when you chop me up into little pieces they know who to look for.”
He laughed at that, a full-throated sound that tickled her. “Don’t worry. My saw is still dull from the last time.”
She chuckled at that then pushed her cart forward and continued shopping. It was sometime later before she said, “You know, there’s a great little organic café at the end of this road.”
“Is there?” he asked, raising a brow.
“Instead of going all the way into the city.”
“Afraid to get into a car with me?” he asked knowingly.
“Not afraid. I can handle myself,” she said, the weight of her weapon on her belt clip reinforcing that belief.
“All right. Do you live nearby?”
“Within walking distance. What about you?”
“I live in Midtown.”
“Then why are you shopping here?”
“I was here on business. It happened to be close. As you know, grocery stores aren’t all that abundant in Midtown.”
“No. Not like they are here, in any event.”
“Besides, it turns out this store has much more to offer,” he said meaningfully.
She smiled. She picked up a jar of applesauce and inspected the ingredients.
“You can eat this. It contains only apples and water.”
He took the jar from her and inspected it. “True. But I prefer to make my own. I make it with cinnamon.”
She raised a brow at him. “You make your own applesauce?”
“When I can. I can a lot of my own fruits and vegetables, though I prefer fresh. Still, there are times of the year when certain things are unavailable. For instance, pumpkin. You only find that readily available in the fall.”
“I am pretty impressed that you know how to can your own vegetables.”
He shrugged. “Canning is simple once you get the hang of it.”
“I suppose you’ll make your own baby food when you have kids? That is…unless you already have kids.”
“No. I have no children.”
They reached the checkout shortly after that. She had purchased much more than he had and her groceries were more urgent what with her having bought ice cream—a purchase that had made him chuckle.
