The Way Home. Irene Hannon
former. The fact that it must be the latter was refreshing. In her world, appearance—for both men and women—was at least as important as skill and often received far more attention. To discover someone who seemed totally unaware of his appeal was a rare—and pleasant—occurrence.
“I’m used to attention,” she hedged.
“I’m sure you are. Even Mitch recognized you. I imagine that gets old.”
She shrugged. “Not yet. It’s still kind of fun, most of the time.”
Cal shook his head. “Well, to each his own. Personally I prefer anonymity.”
“Then maybe we should cancel tonight. Because between the two of us, I guarantee we’re going to attract attention.”
He frowned. “Well, I have an idea, although it’s not much of a date for five hundred dollars,” he said slowly.
“What?”
“Let’s have dinner here.”
She stared at him. “Are you serious?”
“Absolutely.”
Amy hesitated, then shrugged. “Okay.” She took a quick mental inventory of her freezer. “I think I have a couple of frozen microwave dinners. And I might have a—”
“Whoa!” He held up his hands. “I wasn’t asking you to supply the food.”
She frowned. “Then what did you have in mind? Pizza?”
He grinned. “Hardly. Will you trust me on this?”
She shrugged. “Why not? Nothing else tonight has turned out the way I expected.”
“Look at the bright side. The evening has to get better, because it can’t get any worse.”
Amy had to admit that he was being an awfully good sport about the whole thing, and she smiled in return. “Too true.”
“I’ll just need to use your phone again.”
“Okay. I’ll set the table.”
“We’ll salvage this evening yet,” he promised with an engaging grin as he reached for the phone.
As Amy got out plates and silverware, she glanced once or twice toward Cal. He was mostly turned away from her, but she caught a glimpse of his strong profile now and then. He wasn’t exactly handsome in the classic sense, but there was something about his face, some compelling quality—call it “character” for lack of a better term—that touched her. It was odd, really. In an evening full of surprises, this was the most surprising of all—the discovery that she was actually starting to like Cal Richards. It didn’t make any sense, of course. She was still convinced they were polar opposites in many ways, not to mention at odds professionally. Nevertheless she had a strange feeling that somewhere deep inside, at some core level, they were more alike than either had suspected. It was an intriguing, unsettling and surprising thought.
But the surprises for the evening weren’t over yet, it seemed. When she returned to the living room, Cal had put on one of her favorite jazz CDs.
“I like your taste in music,” he commented.
“Thanks.”
“Dinner will be here shortly.”
“Can I ask what we’re having?”
He grinned. “I think I’ll surprise you.”
She tilted her head, a small smile lifting her lips. “I like surprises.”
“Really? I’ll have to remember that.”
She started to say “Why?” then caught herself. It was just a meaningless remark. After tonight, the only time their paths would cross would be in the courtroom, she reminded herself, surprised at the sudden slump in her spirits. She forced herself to focus on the present, reminding herself she had a job to do tonight. That was what this evening was all about after all. With an effort she smiled. “Would you like something to drink?”
“That would be great.”
“Would you like a soft drink, or something stronger?”
“Do you have any wine?”
Amy bit her lip. She was pretty sure she had some wine left from a gathering she’d had at Christmas-time. “I think so.”
“It’s not something I indulge in often, but I could use a glass tonight.”
Amy returned to the kitchen and rummaged around in the refrigerator, triumphantly withdrawing a bottle of merlot. She had just enough for two glasses, which she carried back to the living room, handing one to Cal.
He waited until she was seated, then lifted his glass. “May the rest of the evening be better,” he said.
She raised her glass. “I’ll second that.”
Amy wasn’t sure if it was the toast or the wine or just the fact that they both seemed to let their guard down, but from that moment on, the evening took a decided turn for the better.
By the time they’d finished their wine, dinner arrived, and it was like no “carryout” Amy had ever seen. It came via courier—two gourmet dinners from one of the city’s finest restaurants, on china plates inside domed food warmers, complete with salad and a chocolate dessert to die for.
Amy could only stare in awe as Cal arranged the food on the table, shaking her head in wonder the whole time. “Well, if you can’t go to the restaurant, bring the restaurant to you,” she murmured finally. “I’m impressed. You must have good connections to get this kind of treatment. I didn’t think ‘carryout’ was even in their vocabulary.”
Cal shrugged. “The owner and I go way back. Trust me. I’ll owe him for this,” he said over his shoulder with a grin. Then he stepped back and surveyed the table. “Now, all we need is a little candlelight, and we can pretend we’re actually at the restaurant.”
“That I can supply.”
As they leisurely made their way through the dinner, Amy realized that she was truly enjoying herself. Cal was a good conversationalist, moving with ease from topic to topic, displaying an impressive knowledge and insight on everything from world events to Broadway musicals. The more they talked, the more she realized how much they had in common. Their tastes in art and music were similar, and they were surprisingly in sync politically. It wasn’t until they started talking about more personal things, especially their careers, that their differences emerged.
“So tell me why you went into broadcast news,” he said as they sipped their coffee and dug into the rich dessert.
Amy cupped her chin in her hand. “For the glamour. And the excitement. Not to mention it pays well,” she said with a grin.
“Is money that important?”
“It is when you don’t have it.”
“So I take it you don’t come from a wealthy background.”
She made a face. “Hardly. I grew up on a farm in Ohio. We weren’t poor, but there was never any money to spare. It never bothered my sister, Kate. She was perfectly content with that life and had no desire to leave the farm. I, on the other hand, was drawn to the lights of the big city. I figured there was more to life than cows and plows, and I was determined to find it.”
“Have you?”
She looked surprised. “Sure. I mean, this—” her arm swept the room, with its panoramic view of the city lights “—is what I’ve always wanted.”
“And you’ve never looked back? Never questioned your decision?”
Amy shifted uncomfortably under his suddenly intense gaze. Funny he should ask that, when she’d done that very thing not long ago. But as she’d told herself then, it was too late for second thoughts. And anyway, she did like her life