And Babies Make Five / At Long Last, a Bride. Susan Crosby
a few boxes earlier and might have strained a muscle. It’s actually feeling better now.”
His expression grew concerned. “You shouldn’t have moved things around in your condition.”
No, she probably shouldn’t have. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”
“Sit down,” he told her. “I’ll put away the rest of this stuff.”
For some reason, she didn’t object. Instead, she took a seat at the table and watched him put the groceries and cleaning supplies where they belonged, instructing him whenever he asked—and sometimes even when he didn’t. She hated to admit it, but she’d always been a little fussy about her kitchen.
He pulled out a small container of cinnamon, as well as the nutmeg and sea salt, and headed for the pantry.
“No, not in there,” she said. “I put the herbs and spices in the cupboard to the right of the stove. I like having them handy when I cook.”
His movements slowed as he turned to face her, and his head tilted to the side. “You’re not planning to cook tonight, are you?”
“I was. But I’ll probably just fix a bowl of cereal—something light and easy.” She really didn’t need anyone to tell her she might have overdone things earlier today.
“I’ve got an idea.” His eyes, a pretty golden brown shade, brightened, and he tossed her a crooked smile. “I’ll take you out tonight. There’s a new bistro down on the corner of Fourth and Highland that I’ve been meaning to try. And I hate eating alone.”
So he did have a lot of dates. She meant to tell him no thanks, which was the wisest thing to do. Yet she was giving his invitation a lot more thought than she should have. Although that was probably because she couldn’t remember the last time she’d actually gone out, been waited on and pampered since her return from Europe.
“Come on,” he said. “You’d like something tastier than cereal tonight, wouldn’t you?”
Actually, she would. But did she really want to have dinner with him again? At a restaurant?
She should have made an excuse, told him that she preferred having a bowl of the Raisin Bran she’d just bought, but for some strange reason—loneliness, boredom or something else altogether?—she agreed. “When do you want to go?”
“I just got back from the gym, so I’ll need a shower. But it won’t take me long. Fifteen minutes, maybe. Unless you need longer than that.”
“Give me twenty, okay?”
“You’ve got it.” He tossed her a boyish grin, and her heart tumbled in her chest.
Uh-oh. She needed to get a grip. He was just being friendly and extending a neighborly gesture.
Or was he?
The next thing she knew, she was heading for the closet to find an outfit to wear. Then she would jump in the shower and put on fresh makeup. She probably ought to shampoo her hair, but she’d said twenty minutes, and she hated to make him wait on her.
Besides, going out with Hector was no big deal, she told herself on the way upstairs. It was just two neighbors trying a new restaurant in town.
Yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that this seemed to be a whole lot more than that.
For some crazy reason, it felt way too much like a date.
Chapter Three
Hector couldn’t believe he’d asked his pregnant neighbor out to dinner, but at the time he’d made the offer, it had seemed like a natural thing to do.
His sister, Yolanda, had told him about The Old World Bistro, saying that she and her husband had really enjoyed it and recommending it highly. So he’d planned to check it out, anyway. It didn’t seem to be the kind of place he’d want to dine alone, so he’d asked Samantha to come along.
Now, after showering, splashing on a dab of aftershave and slipping on a pair of black slacks, a white button-down shirt and a sports jacket, he was heading over to Samantha’s house to pick her up.
The storm had finally passed by, leaving the lawns and grounds wet, but as he walked next door, he savored the earthy, after-the-rain scent that clung to the plants and shrubs.
When he reached her stoop, he rang the bell and waited for her to answer. She was an attractive woman, so he’d expected that she would look nice when she swung open the door. But he hadn’t been prepared to come face-to-face with a beautiful, statuesque blonde who could put Katherine Heigl, his favorite Grey’s Anatomy actress, to shame.
She’d pulled her hair up into a twist, revealing pearl studs in her ears. And she’d applied a light coat of mascara that emphasized the biggest, bluest eyes he’d ever seen. Expressive eyes that boasted a warmth he rarely saw in people these days.
The adolescent in him wanted to utter “Wow …” but the man in him bit his tongue.
Had a woman ever appealed to him more?
He couldn’t help scanning the length of her, completely forgetting she was pregnant until he noticed how her classic black dress fit snugly over her baby bump. Yet he still found her as sexy as hell.
But he’d be damned if he’d ogle her any more than he probably already had.
“You’re ready,” he said, making light of it all.
Her lips, which bore a pretty shade of pink lipstick, parted, and she glanced at her bangle watch. “You said twenty minutes …?”
Yes, he had. But he’d never known a woman who could pull off getting dressed within the time allotted, especially when it appeared as though she’d been fussing in front of the bathroom mirror for hours.
“You look great,” he said.
“Thanks.” Her face lit up, as if she hadn’t been complimented in ages and had taken it to heart. Then she reached for her purse, which had been sitting by the door on an entryway table, locked up the house and walked with him to his car.
The soles of their shoes—his Italian leather loafers and her sling-back heels—clicked upon the sidewalk and echoed in the evening air, which was clean and fragrant after the rain.
Her shoulder brushed his upper arm, setting off a rush of hormones in his blood, and he had the strangest compulsion to take her hand in his. He didn’t, though, and the fact that he’d wanted to made him realize he might have made a big mistake by asking her out to dinner.
But there was no way to backpedal now, so he shook it off, determined to enjoy a casual, carefree evening with his neighbor—even if he wasn’t feeling the least bit neighborly.
Once inside his car, he stole a glance at her, saw her profile as she glanced out the passenger window.
Damn, she looked good sitting across the console from him.
Nevertheless, he turned on the ignition, started the car and backed out of the driveway.
Ten minutes later, they arrived at the bistro. He parked at the curb, just two shops down from the entrance, and escorted her to the front door.
A hostess in her mid-thirties stood at a podium and welcomed them.
“Reservations for Garza,” he told the woman.
“Yes, sir. Right this way.” She reached for two faux-leather-covered menus and led them to a linen-draped, café-style table in back, where a violinist played softly. Votive candles and a single red rose in a bud vase added to a romantic ambience Hector hadn’t expected.
He pulled out Samantha’s chair, and before taking a seat, she scanned the white plastered walls, the dark wood trim and the various pieces of art that had been tastefully placed throughout the restaurant.
“What