204 Rosewood Lane by Debbie Macomber Page B

a chef.” Teri edged closer to him, and Maryellen could see she’d already had more than enough todrink. She bit her lip, wanting to suggest that it might be best if they talked another time. “I know my way around a kitchen, too. Want to stir up something together?”
    â€œThat might be interesting.” Jon took another sip of beer, and Maryellen could see he was trying hard to disguise a smile.
    â€œMaryellen said you also take pictures.”
    â€œI do a little of that on the side.”
    â€œActually, Jon’s a brilliant photographer,” Maryellen rushed to explain, mortified at what he must think.
    Trying not to be conspicuous about it, she wandered away and eventually returned to her protective corner. She wasn’t there long before Jon joined her.
    â€œSo, Teri’s the woman you wanted to set me up with?” he asked.
    â€œHave you ever done something you regret?” she asked. “I’m afraid this is one of those situations.”
    He nodded, but didn’t respond, and they stood in silence for a few minutes.
    Someone put a bunch of quarters in the jukebox, and the music started. Several couples formed an impromptu dance floor. Jon made a sweeping gesture. “Shall we?”
    Jon didn’t give her a chance to object. He put his beer aside and gently pulled her into his arms.
    He felt strong and solid against her, but Maryellen was having none of it. “I don’t think we should,” she said, her posture rigid. She didn’t want Jon to hold her, didn’t want this relationship to be anything but professional. Yet she recognized that she’d broken her own rule in calling him, inviting him here—in acknowledging her attraction to Jon Bowman.
    â€œRelax,” he whispered close to her ear.
    â€œI can’t.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    She sighed. “It’s a long story. Jon, I’m serious, this isn’t a good idea.”
    â€œOne dance,” he said. “Okay? Think of it as your penance for setting me up with your friend.”
    Refusing would be ungracious. “Okay,” she agreed, but reluctantly. She tried to keep her distance, although it was difficult with Jon’s arms around her, urging her closer. The song was that slow-dance classic, “Cherish,” and she couldn’t help feeling affected. If Jon wasn’t so gentle and warm and considerate, it would’ve been easier to maintain her reserve. She began to relax in his embrace.
    â€œBetter, much better,” he whispered, leading her across the floor. He stroked her back in a slow circular motion that was doing crazy things to her pulse. The music ended long before she was ready to stop.
    â€œThat wasn’t so bad, now was it?” Jon asked.
    She blinked up at him, not realizing she’d closed her eyes. “No.” It was scary and wonderful, both at once. She didn’t want to feel any of this. Warning bells were clanging in her head. Nevertheless, when the next song started—even before he asked—she slipped her arms around his neck and swayed toward him.
    Jon didn’t say anything, but she could feel his smile. To her own amazement, she was smiling, too.
    They danced for what seemed like hours, danced to song after song. They didn’t talk, but the communication between them was unmistakable. The way he held her close told her he’d been interested in her for some time. And the way she responded to his touch told him she found his work brilliant and beautiful, and that he intrigued her—as an artist and a man.
    She wanted to know why he answered every question witha question. Did he have secrets? She suspected he must. After all, she had her own. Secrets that had remained buried since the early days of her marriage. No one knew, not even her mother. Not her sister. No one. Perhaps it was this that drew them together. Perhaps this was what he sensed in her and she felt in him. Of one thing Maryellen