Debbie Macomber - Navy Brat

“Not…” She had to stop and think.

“The Trattoria,” Brand supplied.

“Yes.” Erin was impressed he’d even heard of it, but then he probably had since everyone stationed on Guam ate there at one time or another. “They serve a clam spaghetti my father swore he would die for. My mom tried for years to duplicate the recipe and finally gave up. Who would ever believe a tiny restaurant on the island of Guam would serve the best Italian food in the world?”

“Better even than Miceli’s in Rome?” he probed.

“You’ve been to Miceli’s?” she asked excitedly. Obviously he had, otherwise he wouldn’t have mentioned it. The fresh-from-the-oven-bread was what she remembered about Miceli’s. The aroma would drift through the narrow cobblestoned streets of the Italian town like nothing Erin had ever known. Her stomach growled just thinking about it.

“I’ve been in the navy nearly fifteen years,” he reminded her.

Mentioning the fact that he was navy was like slapping a cold rag across her face and forcing her back to reality. Her reaction was immediate. She reached for the menu, jerked it open and decided what she intended to order in three seconds flat. She looked up, hoping to catch the waitress’s eye.

“I can’t decide if I’m hungry enough for the T-bone or not,” Brand remarked conversationally. He glanced over the menu a second time before looking to her. “You’ve decided?”

“Yes. I’ll have the peppercorn filet.”

Brand nodded, apparently saluting her choice. “That sounds good. I’ll have the same.”

“No,” Erin said, surprised by how adamant she sounded. “Have the T-bone. It’s probably the best of any place in town. And since you’re only going to be in Seattle a few weeks, you really should sample Joe’s specialty.”

“All right, I will.” Brand smiled at her, and Erin’s heart started to pound like a giant sledgehammer, a fact she chose to ignore.

The waitress arrived to take their order, and Brand suggested a bottle of wine.

“No, thanks, none for me,” Erin said quickly. After what had happened the night they’d met, she’d considered living her entire life without drinking wine again. It was probably ridiculous to blame two glasses of Chablis for the eager way she’d responded to Brand’s kisses. But it was an excuse, and she badly needed one. She certainly wasn’t looking for a repeat performance. Her objective was to get through this dinner, thank Brand and then go her own way. Naturally she wanted them to part with the understanding she didn’t ever intend to date him again. But she wanted to be sure he realized it was nothing personal.

The conversation that followed was polite, if a tad stilted. Erin’s hand circled the water glass, and her gaze flittered across the restaurant, gathering in the memories.

“I made a mistake,” Brand announced out of the blue, capturing her attention. “I shouldn’t have reminded you I’m navy. You were enjoying yourself until then.”

Erin lowered her gaze to the red linen napkin in her lap. “Actually, I’m grateful. It’s far too easy to forget with you.” As she spoke, Erin could hear a thread of resentment and fear in her own voice.

“I was hoping we might be able to forget about that.”

“No,” she answered, softly, regretfully. “I can’t allow myself to forget. You’re here for how long? Two, three weeks?” She asked this as a reminder to herself of how foolish it would be to become involved with Brand.

“Two weeks.”

“That’s what I thought.” Her gaze drifted toward the kitchen in a silent appeal to the chef to hurry with their order. The more time she spent with Brand, the more susceptible she was to his charm. He was everything she feared. Appealing. Attractive. Charming. She was beginning to hate that word, but it seemed to fit him so well.

He asked her about the places she’d lived, and she answered him as straightforwardly as she could, trying not to let the resentment seep into her voice. Her answers were abridged, clipped.

Their meal arrived, and none too soon, as far as Erin was concerned.

Brand’s steak was delicious. As delicious as Erin had promised, cooked to perfection. He didn’t know what to make of Erin MacNamera, however. Hell, he didn’t know what to make of himself. She’d made her views on seeing him plain enough. He didn’t know what it was about her that affected him so strongly. The challenge, perhaps. There weren’t many women who turned him down flat the way she had.

The challenge was there, he’d admit that, but it was something else, too. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Whatever it was, Erin was driving him crazy.

They’d agreed to meet outside her office building, and Brand had half expected her to stand him up. When she had shown, he’d noted regretfully that it wasn’t out of any desire to spend time with him. At first she’d been tense. They’d started talking, and she’d lowered her guard and been beginning to relax. Then he’d blown it by reminding her he was in the navy.

From that point on he might as well have been sitting across the table from a robot. He’d asked her something, and she’d answered him with one-word replies or by simply shrugging her shoulders. After a while he’d given up the effort. If she wanted conversation with her dinner, then she could damn well carry it on her own.

It didn’t come as any surprise to Brand that she was ready to leave the minute they finished. He collected the bill, left a generous tip and escorted Erin to the car.

“Are you parked at the same lot off Yesler?” he asked once they were in traffic.

“Yes. You can drop me off there, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t.” Brand noted that she sounded downright eager to part company with him. This woman was definitely a detriment to his ego. Fine, he got the message. He wasn’t exactly sure why he’d even suggested this dinner date. As Erin had taken pains to remind him, he would be in Seattle only a couple of weeks. The implication being that he’d be out of her life forever then. Apparently that was exactly what she wanted.

In retrospect, Brand was willing to admit why he’d asked her out to dinner.

It was the kiss.

Her response, so tentative in the beginning, so hesitant and unsure, had thrown him for a loop. If Casey was ever to find out Brand had kissed his red-haired daughter, there would be hell to pay. The sure wrath of his friend hadn’t altered the fact Brand had wanted to kiss Erin. And kiss her he had, until his knees had been knocking and his heart had been roaring like a runaway train.

What had started out as a challenge had left him depleted and shaken. Numb with surprise and wonder. Erin had flowered in his arms like a rare tropical plant. She was incredibly sweet, and so soft that he’d been forced to use every ounce of restraint he possessed not to crush her in his arms.

This dinner date was a different story. She could hardly wait to get out of his car. Fine. He’d let her go, because frankly he wasn’t much into cultivating a relationship with a woman who clearly didn’t want to have anything to do with him.

He pulled off First Avenue onto the lot and left the engine running, hoping she’d get his message, as well.

Her hand was already closed around the door handle. “Thank you for dinner.”

“You’re welcome,” was his stiff reply. His tone bordered on the sarcastic, but if she noticed she didn’t comment.

“I’m sorry I was such poor company.”

He didn’t claim otherwise. She hesitated, and for a wild moment Brand thought she might lean over and gently kiss him goodbye. It would have been a nice gesture on her part.

She didn’t.

Instead she scooted out of the car, fiddled with the snap of her purse and retrieved her key chain, all while he sat waiting for her. When she’d opened the door to her Toyota, she twisted around and smiled sadly, as if she wanted to say something more. She didn’t, however. She just climbed inside resolutely.