Trading Christmas - Debbie Macomber [89]
“That’s one way to get the waiter’s attention. Thanks for suggesting it.”
“Aha!” Triumphantly Cait pulled two miniature bread sticks wrapped in cellophane from the bottom of her purse. “Eat,” she instructed. “Before you’re overcome by some other craziness.”
“You mean before I kiss you again,” he said in a low voice, bending his head toward hers.
She leaned back quickly, not giving him any chance of following through on that. “Exactly. Or waltz with the waitress or any of the other loony things you do.”
“You have to admit I’ve been good all morning.”
“With one minor slip,” she reminded him, pressing the bread sticks into his hand. “Now eat.”
Before Joe had a chance to open the package, the hostess approached them with two menus tucked under her arm. “Mr. and Mrs. Rockwell. Your table is ready.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Rockwell,” Cait muttered under her breath, glaring at Joe. She should’ve known she couldn’t trust him.
“Excuse me,” Cait said, standing abruptly and raising her index finger. “His name is Rockwell, mine is Marshall,” she explained patiently. She was not about to let Joe continue his silly games. “We’re just friends here for lunch.” Her narrowed eyes caught Joe’s, which looked as innocent as freshly fallen snow. He shrugged as though to say any misunderstanding hadn’t been his fault.
“I see,” the hostess replied. “I’m sorry for the confusion.”
“No problem.” Cait hadn’t wanted to make a big issue of this, but on the other hand she didn’t want Joe to think he was going to get away with it, either.
The woman led them to a linen-covered table in the middle of the room. Joe held out Cait’s chair for her, then whispered something to the hostess who immediately cast Cait a sympathetic glance. Joe’s own gaze rested momentarily on Cait before he pulled out his chair and sat across from her.
“All right, what did you say to her?” she hissed.
The menu seemed to command his complete interest for a couple of minutes. “What makes you think I said anything?”
“I heard you whispering and then she gave me this pathetic look like she wanted to hug me and tell me everything was going to be all right.”
“Then you know.”
“Joe, don’t play games with me,” Cait warned.
“All right, if you must know, I explained that you’d suffered a head injury and developed amnesia.”
“Amnesia,” she repeated loudly enough to attract the attention of the diners at the next table. Gritting her teeth, Cait snatched up her menu, gripping it so tightly the edges curled. It didn’t do any good to argue with Joe. The man was impossible. Every time she tried to reason with him, he did something to make her regret it.
“How else was I supposed to explain the fact that you’d forgotten our marriage?” he asked reasonably.
“I did not forget our marriage,” she informed him from between clenched teeth, reviewing the menu and quickly making her selection. “Good grief, it wasn’t even legal.”
She realized that the waitress was standing by their table, pen and pad in hand. The woman’s ready smile faded as she looked from Cait to Joe and back again. Her mouth tightened as if she suspected they really were involved in something illegal.
“Uh…” Cait hedged, feeling like even more of an idiot. The urge to explain was overwhelming, but every time she tried, she only made matters worse. “I’ll have the club sandwich,” she said, glaring across the table at Joe.
“That sounds good. I’ll have the same,” he said, closing his menu.
The woman scribbled down their order, then hurried away, pausing to glance over her shoulder as if she wanted to be able to identify them later in a police lineup.
“Now look what you’ve done,” Cait whispered heatedly once the waitress was far enough away from their table not to overhear.
“Me?”
Maybe she was being unreasonable, but Joe was the one who’d started this nonsense in the first place. No