Fiancé In Name Only

Whether he knew it or not, that was an opening for questions. She didn’t waste it. “Live alone, huh?”

One eyebrow lifted as he turned to look at her. “Did you notice anyone else here with me the last couple of months?”

“No,” she admitted with a smile, “but you do write mysteries. You could have killed your girlfriend.”

“Could have,” he agreed easily. “Didn’t. The only place I commit crimes is on a computer screen.”

“Glad to hear it,” she said, smiling. Also glad to hear he could take some teasing and give it back. But on to the real question. “So, no girlfriend or wife?”

He used the spatula to stir the pasta, then gave her a quick look. “That’s a purely female question.”

“Well, then, since I am definitely female, that makes sense.” She propped her chin in her hand. “And it was very male of you to answer the question by not answering. Want to give it another try?”

“No.”

“No you won’t answer or no is the answer?”

Reluctantly, it seemed, his mouth curved briefly into a half smile. “I should know better than to get into a battle of words with a woman. Even being a writer, I don’t stand a chance.”

“Isn’t that the nicest thing to say?” But she stared at him, clearly waiting for his answer. Finally he gave her the one she was looking for.

He snorted. “No is the answer. No wife. No girlfriend. No interest.”

“So you’re gay,” she said sagely. Oh, she knew he wasn’t because the two of them had that whole hot-buzz thing going between them. But it was fun to watch his expression.

“I’m not gay.”

“Are you sure?”

“Reasonably,” he said wryly.

“Good to know,” she said, and took a sip of wine, hiding her smile behind the rim of her glass. “I’m not, either, just so we’re clear.”

His gaze bored into hers and flames licked at her insides. “Also good to know.”

Her throat dried up so she had another sip of wine to ease it. “How long have you been a writer?”

“A writer or a published writer?” he asked.

“There’s a difference?”

He shrugged as he plated the pasta and carried them to the table. Sitting down opposite her, he took a long drink of his wine before speaking again. “I wrote stories for years that no one will ever see.”

“Intriguing,” she said, and wondered what those old stories would say about Micah Hunter. Would she learn more about the closed-off, secretive man by discovering who he had been years ago?

“Not very.” He took a bite of pasta, “Anyway, I’ve been published about ten years.”

“I don’t read your books.”

One eyebrow lifted and he smirked. “Thanks.”

She grinned. “That came out wrong. Sorry. I mean, I read one of your books a few years ago and it scared me to death. So I haven’t read another one.”

“Then, thank you.” He lifted his glass in a kind of salute to her. “Best compliment you could give me. Which book was it?”

“I don’t remember the title,” she said, tasting the pasta. “But it was about a woman looking for her missing sister and she finds the sister’s killer, instead.”

He nodded. “Relative Danger. That was my third book.”

“First and last for me,” she assured him. “I slept with the light on for two weeks.”

“Thanks.” He studied her. “Did you read the whole book? Or did you stop because it scared you?”

“Who stops in the middle of a book?” she demanded, outraged at the idea. “No, I read the whole thing and, terror aside, it ended well.”

“Thanks again.”

“You’re welcome. You know, this is really good,” she said, taking another bite. “Your mom teach you how to cook?”

His face went hard and tight. He lowered his gaze to his plate and muttered, “No. Learned by trial and error.”

Sore spot, she told herself and changed the subject. She had secret, painful corners in her own soul, so she wouldn’t poke at his. “How’s your book coming? The one you’re working on now, I mean.”

He frowned before answering. “Slower than I’d like.”

“Why?”

“You ask a lot of questions.”

“The only way to get answers.”

“True.” He took a sip of wine. “Because the book’s set in a small town and I don’t know small towns.”

“Hello?” Laughing, she said, “You’re in one.”

“Yeah. That’s why I came here in the first place. My agent suggested it. He stayed here a couple of years ago for the skiing and thought the town would work for my research.”

“Here, here?” she asked. “I mean, did he stay at the Victorian?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s his name?”

“Sam Hellman. He and his wife, Jenny, were here for a week.”

“I remember them. She’s very pretty and sweet and he’s funny.”

“That’s them,” Micah agreed.