What She Really Wants for Christmas

“In the same field?”

“Why so many questions?” she snapped.

“Well, let’s see, I suppose we could talk about the weather.”

Liza sighed. “I really don’t know what I’m going to do yet.”

“Waiting for the lawsuit to play out, I imagine.”

She flinched. “It’s not about the money.”

“Oh?” Jeez, he really was just making conversation.

She moistened her lips. “Have you heard anything?”

“You mean, around the station?”

She slowly nodded, her anxious hazel eyes staying fastened on his.

He chuckled. “Your name has popped up from time to time.”

“I know they all think I’m a bitch.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

Her chin went up in defiance. “You don’t have to protect my tender feelings. I really don’t give a damn.”

“I know. I was talking about the janitor. He doesn’t speak English, so I doubt he has an opinion of you.”

Liza grinned. “Very good, Dr. Gann.”

“Why, thank you.” Silly how good it felt to have impressed Liza. But mostly it was about how her face relaxed when she smiled. How pretty she looked.

“Here we go.” The waitress set the tequila sunrise in front of Liza along with a small white bowl of maraschino cherries. She put a bottle of imported beer in front of Evan, and then another bowl of pretzels in the center of the table.

“Thank you.” Liza looked at the waitress, an odd expression on her face, almost as if she was surprised by the kindness.

“I’ll check back with you later,” the older woman said as she took out the pencil she’d stuck behind her ear and then moved to the next table.

Liza reached for her second cherry, while eyeing the pretzels. “I wonder if the gang still goes to Latitude Thirty-Three,” she said with an unexpected wistfulness.

“I think they do. If you want we can go there after—”

“God, no.” She took a quick sip of her drink. “No one from Just Between Us wants to see me.”

“Why were you in the parking lot yesterday?”

She frowned. “Can we talk about something else?”

“Name it. I can’t seem to get it right.”

She tilted her head to the side, her eyebrows drawing together. “I don’t get you.”

“Me? I’m an open book.”

“Are you married?”

That annoyed him. “I wouldn’t be sitting here if I were.”

Liza shrugged. “Why? This is merely a friendly drink, yes? Plus, you’re celibate.”

He smiled. “I was ten minutes ago.”

She shook her head in mock exasperation. “Okay, were you ever married?”

“No.”

“Hmm.”

“What does that mean?”

“You seem like the marrying kind. Kids. The white picket fence. Steady. Stable. You know the type.”

Evan knew exactly what she meant. Liza was on the wild side, which meant she’d find someone like that boring. The thing was, he pretty much was that guy. He would have had it all by now if Angela hadn’t screwed him. And, literally, two of his friends. “I have the white picket fence. Came with the house.”

Liza chuckled. “Ah, so you do have the whole house-and-mortgage thing.”

“Gotta live somewhere.”

Her expression fell and her shoulders sagged. “I think I’d like a house someday,” she said softly. “With a small yard and garden. Apartment living is getting old.”

“Where are you now?”

She looked warily at him. “You wouldn’t know the place. Anyway, I’m not even sure I’m staying in Atlanta. Probably won’t. Too hot and humid.”

“Great for growing gardens.”

She gave a shrug of indifference and in just those few seconds she became the old Liza. “I’m not really the hearth-and-home type. I was only making conversation.”

“Ah, I see.” He didn’t really. Better to let it go, though. “You must have something in mind, assuming you win the lawsuit.”

She’d just picked up her drink and it slid from her hand. Half the liquid sloshed onto her lap before she could right the glass. “Damn.”

He rose. “I’ll get a towel from the waitress.”

“No, that’s okay. I’ve got it.” She used both their cocktail napkins but he knew that couldn’t have done much good.

“I can get a towel.”