The Perfect Christmas - Debbie Macomber [37]
“This might surprise you, but I quite like you when you’re sick.”
He set the spoon next to his bowl and studied her warily. “I beg your pardon?”
That must have sounded strange. “You’re more human when you’re vulnerable.” He didn’t respond.
Cassie was gratified to see that he finished the entire bowlful of soup.
“Shall we have our tea in the living room?” she asked, noting that the television was on, the volume low.
Simon nodded. “I’ve watched more television in the past three days than the previous three years.”
“Oh, Jeopardy!’s just starting. That’s my favorite game show,” she said, sitting on the couch. Simon sat beside her, a careful distance away—not too close and not too far.
He picked up the remote and turned up the volume. The thirty minutes passed quickly. She couldn’t resist shouting out answers—“What is the Battle of Gettysburg?” “Who are Sacco and Vanzetti?” “What is silver nitrate?” She was pleased that she was almost always right, although she noticed that Simon didn’t participate at all. He must be feeling very ill.
“I should leave,” she said after Final Jeopardy (“Who was St. Nicholas?”) and started to stand.
Simon reached for her hand. “Stay a while longer, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t…” The sudden surge of tenderness she felt shocked her. What shocked her even more was that his hand continued to hold hers. His touch was light, but sometime during the next thirty minutes he intertwined their fingers. It was hard to concentrate on the rerun of Frasier—a Christmas episode she’d already seen—when her whole body was focused on his hand holding hers. Innocent enough on the surface, his action was highly sensual in its effect. She felt his touch in every part of her, in every sensitized nerve, every cell. She needed all her self-control not to turn into his arms and beg him to kiss her.
“My brother might be at the dinner,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound as breathless as she felt.
“I’d enjoy meeting him.”
“You would? Angie might be able to come, too.”
“Angie?”
“My best friend. You met her—and rejected her.”
“Ah, yes, I remember her now.”
“I wish you’d given her a chance,” Cassie murmured.
“I couldn’t. She was in love with someone and refused to admit it.”
“How do you know?” she asked.
“It’s my job. That’s the point of such a detailed questionnaire. I explore people’s responses and I read between the lines.” He looked at her sternly, their hands still linked. “You know I can’t discuss this with you.”
“Oh.” Her mouth had gone dry. If Simon could read others so well, she wondered if he was aware of the intense sensation she was experiencing. Did he feel it, too?
“Will you come for dinner?” she asked. This was the concession she’d intended to request. She wasn’t quite sure why. She’d told herself it was so he’d be able to judge the way she handled the third task, which would expedite her introduction to John. But now…
He didn’t answer.
“Please?”
He rubbed his thumb along hers and it was all Cassie could do not to faint. Her eyes drifted shut.
“I’ll be there,” he finally agreed.
“Thank you.”
The argument between Frasier and Niles on the TV seemed to fade into the background. “I should go,” she said.
“Yes,” he said in a whisper. “You should.” He released her and she clenched her fist to keep from grabbing his hand again.
“I’ll see you at three o’clock on Sunday,” she said hoarsely, staggering to her feet.
He nodded.
He didn’t walk her to the door.
Chapter 12
Simon says: The perfect match lights a lasting fire.
Cassie pored over every cookbook she owned. They were all full of wonderful recipes. Even more encouraging, the instructions didn’t seem too difficult. She had her menu set for this all-important dinner: roast turkey with a traditional stuffing, mashed potatoes and gravy, fresh green beans with butter and sliced almonds, two different salads and three kinds of pie, apple, pumpkin and pecan. Her grocery list was two pages long.