Forever...Again

Pushing the milkshake back across the table to her, he said, “Thanks. Better than I remembered.”

It was all better than he remembered. That sizzle of attraction, the hum of electricity in the air. And because he was enjoying himself, Ron felt guilty as hell.

Chapter Three

“I don’t understand,” Ron said a moment later when the awkward silence over the milkshake had passed. Maybe he shouldn’t say anything at all, but this had been bothering him for months. Every time he saw her, he wondered why she’d really come. And just how long she planned to stay.

“What?”

“What you’re doing here.”

“Eating dinner?”

“Clever. I meant here in Binghamton.”

“Well that’s blunt.”

“Yep.”

“You do that to annoy me, don’t you?” Lily asked, tilting her head to one side as she studied him. “The one-word answers, I mean.”

“Yep.” Hell, why should he be the only one irritated and annoyed? And something else, his mind whispered, but he paid no attention. If he noticed that her hair shone blond in the sunlight drifting through the plate-glass window, it was simply an observation. Right?

“That’s what I thought.” She paused, glanced up as the waitress delivered her hamburger and said, “Thank you, Vickie, it looks great.”

“Enjoy, Ms. Cunningham.”

Lily sighed. “She’s still worried that I’ll yell at her some more. Did you see how she walked backward from the table?”

He’d noticed. And he had a feeling a lot of people walked a wide path around Lily. Any woman who could go from calm and cool to red hot and blistering in a matter of seconds was one to keep an eye on. “Could be she was treating you like a queen.”

Lily laughed outright. “More likely she was afraid I’d jump at her.” She shook her head and on a disgusted sigh, added, “You’d think I’d be able to control my temper better after all these years.”

“Everyone’s got a temper.”

“Not everyone uses it.”

True. Most folks played the game of being nice while biting their tongue to keep the angry words inside. For himself, he much preferred a good flash of temper. Truth usually spilled out then, and he’d rather know exactly where he stood with a person than to have to try to guess.

He nodded at her as he watched her slather ketchup on her hamburger bun and then drizzle a river of it across still-steaming French fries. She’d never struck him as the ketchup type, Ron thought. There was more “caviar and champagne” about her than “beer and pretzels.”

“I’m better than I used to be though,” she said, piling tomato, onion, pickles and lettuce onto the open-faced burger before slapping the other half of the bun down on top of it all.

“Yeah?” Fascinated now, he watched as she tipped the hamburger over, took off the bottom half of the bun and used her knife to spread potato salad on the toasted surface.

“Oh yes.” Unaware of his scrutiny, she kept talking while she smoothed on another layer of potato salad. “When I was younger, I’d pick up anything within reach and throw it at the closest victim when I was in the middle of a temper. I can tell you, my brothers learned to duck at an early age.”

“How many?”

“How many what?” She put the other tomato on top of the potato salad and then slapped the bun back into place at the bottom of the burger.

He shook his head. The burger was so high now, he didn’t know how she’d ever be able to get a bite. “Brothers.”

“Three.”

“Uh-huh. Do you always do that?”

“What?” She held the big burger in both hands, took a huge bite, then set the burger down and, laughing, picked up her napkin and held it in front of her face while she struggled to chew.

“Pile all that stuff on your hamburger. You probably can’t even taste the meat anymore.”

She chewed, held up one hand and when she’d swallowed, she said, “Of course you can. And why bother having the fixings for a burger if you don’t use them? It’s terrific. You should try it.”

“Potato salad on a hamburger?” Ron winced. “No thanks.”

“You’ll eat it with a hamburger though?”

“Sure.”

“What’s the difference?”

“I eat ’em separately.”

“Here’s a secret, Ron,” she said, grinning now at his perplexed expression. “All the food you eat ends up together, anyway. There are no separate compartments in your stomach—you know, one for tomatoes, one for meat, one for potato salad.”

“You’re a real comedian, aren’t you?”

“I don’t hear you laughing.”

“I’m laughing on the inside.”

“And crying on the outside?” she asked. “Not very attractive.”

“Do you see tears?” He held up both hands as if he were surrendering to a man with a gun. “Never mind. Don’t bother. Don’t say anything more. Your mind’s on one of the weird tracks again, isn’t it?”

She grinned. “Tom, Dan and Howard.”

“Huh?”

“My brothers,” she said, taking another, smaller bite. “You asked about them before.”

Hell, Ron could hardly remember what they’d been talking about. How could anyone keep up with the way this woman’s mind worked? “You just jump onto whatever conversational track feels right at the time, don’t you?”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

“Right. Where are they now?”

She shrugged, but he thought he caught a glimpse of something less casual sparkling in her eyes. “In Boston.”