Christmas at Timberwoods - Fern Michaels [34]
Charlie reached for the coffee, his eyes on the girl across from him. He wondered what she was all about. “How much do I owe you?”
“You don’t owe me anything. What’s a cup of coffee between friends? You can buy it next time.”
Friends? Charlie frowned. They didn’t even know each other and she was calling them friends. He’d never had a girl for a “friend” before. “Yeah, sure, I’ll buy the next time.”
“Well, now that that’s settled, why don’t you relax and enjoy it—the coffee, I mean. I got it black because I didn’t know what you took in it.”
“Black is fine,” Charlie mumbled. He hated black coffee. He liked it with lots of cream and at least three sugars. And he hated lukewarm coffee with a passion. But he would keep his complaints to himself.
“My name’s Angela Steinhart.” Angela held out her hand.
Charlie looked down and saw her ragged nails. “Charlie Roman,” he said, holding out his own hand hesitantly.
Angela noticed that he wiped his palm on his trousers before he offered it, and she wondered vaguely why he should have sweating palms. Playing second fiddle to Santa Claus must be tougher than she thought. All those whining kids.
“Do you shop here often?” Charlie asked, wondering why he hadn’t seen her around before.
“Not really. Lately, though, I’ve been killing time here a lot,” Angela volunteered. If he wasn’t aware that she’d designed some of the displays, so what? She would have liked to tell him the real reason she was there, but she didn’t want him to think she was crazy.
Charlie was uncomfortable. He squirmed on the hard plastic seat. He didn’t know how to talk to women, and she looked uncomfortable, too. The knowledge that she might be nervous pleased him, and he relaxed for the first time in days. He’d had reservations about meeting her, but now he was glad. She was anything but pretty, but she wasn’t homely, either. He frowned, trying to decide if it was her nose or her teeth that made her face look irregular. Somehow one didn’t seem to go with the other. Aside from that, she was as skinny as a rail, but what the hell? He could put up with her. It wasn’t like they were going to jump into the sack together. They were just having coffee and talking.
“Do you pick up guys all the time?” he blurted. She was staring at him, and God only knew what she was thinking.
“Nah. You never know what you’re getting. You’re different, though. You work here with Santa Claus and all. That makes you a safe bet.” She giggled, waiting to see Charlie’s reaction. There was none. Then she asked, “Do you pick up girls often?”
Charlie’s eyes widened and he almost burst out laughing. Did she really think that? A guy like him, who was big and awkward and nerdish? She was obviously putting him on. Still, she didn’t look like she was poking fun at him. All the guys he knew lied to women; why couldn’t he?
“Sometimes,” he said quietly. Let her make whatever she wanted out of that.
Angela pursed her mouth. “Well, let’s get one thing straight right now. I don’t go in for onenight stands, and I don’t sleep around.”
Charlie’s face drained. Not the answer he had been expecting, but at least he knew where he stood. She was no Heather Andrews, but she had something Heather didn’t: honesty. He liked the feeling that was starting to stir in him. “So who said you did? I don’t remember inviting you anywhere. You invited me, remember?”
“I just don’t want you to think I’m looking to hook up. I mean, I sort of like you, but I don’t want any misunderstandings later on,” Angela replied.
Charlie stared at her a full minute before he replied. “You’ve made your point.”
“Have you worked here long?” Angela questioned, hoping to change the subject. She had no idea how it had cropped up.
“Close to six years. Why do you ask?” he asked bluntly.
“Why not?” Angela retorted carelessly. “Is it a secret?”
Jesus, just the way she said the word secret sent a chill up his spine. He was getting the feeling that she was unstable. The last thing