water will help."
He cocked his eyebrow. "You or the linguini?"
She laughed. "The linguini.” Only an ice bath would help her.
"I'll start it over again.” Hawk seemed genuinely disappointed that their dinner had been spoiled. If he was worried about making a lasting impression this evening he’d already left an indelible mark in her mind.
"Don't bother. I'm so hungry, anything will taste good to me."
The corners of his mouth lifted in a devilish grin. "I'll take that as a compliment."
"Somehow, I knew you would."
Hawk made no attempt to pick up where they had left off before they were so rudely interrupted. Instead, he directed her to a chair while he finished cooking. He worked silently, but when he glanced at her, she knew he was remembering what had passed.
The conversation during dinner stayed to the safer subjects of politics and religion, yet Gillian was aware that their relationship had taken new direction. Hawk was more open, even joking that his friend, Chef Gino was going to kill him for messing up the small task of boiling water.
While he cleared the dishes, she went outside to pick some strawberries for des s ert. When she returned, he was sitting in front of the sofa. He placed a pillow on the floor and waited for her to join him.
"I raided your garden," she said and placed a hand full of the red fruit on the coffee table in front of them.
"Remind me to sue you."
"I can't afford it. I'll have to eat the evidence.” She popped a ripe berry in her mouth. The sweet taste lingered after she swallowed. "Pure heaven."
He slipped his arm around her and eased her into the crook of his shoulder. "Are you sure you don't have some Iroquois blood?"
"Why?"
"The people of the Longhouse religion believe that the road to heaven is lined with strawberries. Hence the Strawberry Thanksgiving. To celebrate the first fruit of the year and remember those who have left this life."
She glanced up at him. "Is that true or did you just make that up?"
He placed one hand across his chest. "Honest Injun."
Gillian felt a surge of pleasure that he’d finally shared a small part of his heritage without becoming defensive or belligerent.
"Why are you smiling like that?" he asked.
"Do I need a reason?"
"No. But now it's my turn to ask questions.” She started to protest and he placed a silencing finger to her lips. "A deal is a deal. I fed you and dazzled you with my fascinating wit."
"I could argue the point of your fascinating wit..."
"One question," he said seriously. "What happened the day you were arrested?"
She let out a small laugh. "The Superior Fruit Packing plant disagreed with my politics. Which isn’t all that upsetting since I disagreed with theirs.”
“Fair enough. But when did you become interested in the plight of the migrant worker?”
“When I became aware of just how deplorable their conditions are.”
“It’s been that way for years, Gillian. It’s not a new issue.”
For her the issue was new and very personal. Her cousin had grown up in the migrant camps when she should have been entitled to the same luxuries and opportunities Gillian had been given. That guilt had plagued her for the past six months. “I’ll admit that I probably deserved the title Princess. My life in Butler Square was very sheltered. I thought I was doing my part by attending charity functions. Until I learned just how little of the money raised actually went to the people it was supposed to help.”
“Did you have to be so publically involved? Chaining yourself to the front gates and allowing the press to interview you is somewhat extreme.”
“It’s different when you get to know someone personally. And believe it or not, it had absolutely nothing to do with embarrassing my father.”
“Then why didn’t you explain your position to Aaron? He might have understood.”
If her father hadn’t found the opportunity to tell her about her cousin in twenty-four years, he certainly had no intention of
He cocked his eyebrow. "You or the linguini?"
She laughed. "The linguini.” Only an ice bath would help her.
"I'll start it over again.” Hawk seemed genuinely disappointed that their dinner had been spoiled. If he was worried about making a lasting impression this evening he’d already left an indelible mark in her mind.
"Don't bother. I'm so hungry, anything will taste good to me."
The corners of his mouth lifted in a devilish grin. "I'll take that as a compliment."
"Somehow, I knew you would."
Hawk made no attempt to pick up where they had left off before they were so rudely interrupted. Instead, he directed her to a chair while he finished cooking. He worked silently, but when he glanced at her, she knew he was remembering what had passed.
The conversation during dinner stayed to the safer subjects of politics and religion, yet Gillian was aware that their relationship had taken new direction. Hawk was more open, even joking that his friend, Chef Gino was going to kill him for messing up the small task of boiling water.
While he cleared the dishes, she went outside to pick some strawberries for des s ert. When she returned, he was sitting in front of the sofa. He placed a pillow on the floor and waited for her to join him.
"I raided your garden," she said and placed a hand full of the red fruit on the coffee table in front of them.
"Remind me to sue you."
"I can't afford it. I'll have to eat the evidence.” She popped a ripe berry in her mouth. The sweet taste lingered after she swallowed. "Pure heaven."
He slipped his arm around her and eased her into the crook of his shoulder. "Are you sure you don't have some Iroquois blood?"
"Why?"
"The people of the Longhouse religion believe that the road to heaven is lined with strawberries. Hence the Strawberry Thanksgiving. To celebrate the first fruit of the year and remember those who have left this life."
She glanced up at him. "Is that true or did you just make that up?"
He placed one hand across his chest. "Honest Injun."
Gillian felt a surge of pleasure that he’d finally shared a small part of his heritage without becoming defensive or belligerent.
"Why are you smiling like that?" he asked.
"Do I need a reason?"
"No. But now it's my turn to ask questions.” She started to protest and he placed a silencing finger to her lips. "A deal is a deal. I fed you and dazzled you with my fascinating wit."
"I could argue the point of your fascinating wit..."
"One question," he said seriously. "What happened the day you were arrested?"
She let out a small laugh. "The Superior Fruit Packing plant disagreed with my politics. Which isn’t all that upsetting since I disagreed with theirs.”
“Fair enough. But when did you become interested in the plight of the migrant worker?”
“When I became aware of just how deplorable their conditions are.”
“It’s been that way for years, Gillian. It’s not a new issue.”
For her the issue was new and very personal. Her cousin had grown up in the migrant camps when she should have been entitled to the same luxuries and opportunities Gillian had been given. That guilt had plagued her for the past six months. “I’ll admit that I probably deserved the title Princess. My life in Butler Square was very sheltered. I thought I was doing my part by attending charity functions. Until I learned just how little of the money raised actually went to the people it was supposed to help.”
“Did you have to be so publically involved? Chaining yourself to the front gates and allowing the press to interview you is somewhat extreme.”
“It’s different when you get to know someone personally. And believe it or not, it had absolutely nothing to do with embarrassing my father.”
“Then why didn’t you explain your position to Aaron? He might have understood.”
If her father hadn’t found the opportunity to tell her about her cousin in twenty-four years, he certainly had no intention of
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