Homestands (Chicago Wind #1) by Sally Bradley Page B

him.
    He followed her to the table and sat down, waiting for the explanation.
    Instead, she opened the bag and put one massive roll on each plate, pausing to suck warm icing from her thumb.
    “Good?” he asked.
    She nodded, seating herself to his left. She unwrapped her roll with her fingers, just like she always had.
    Had she forgotten he didn’t believe in getting sticky? And where was her explanation of the cars? He leaned back in his chair, fingers linked across his stomach. “You’re way too helpful.”
    She glanced at him, swallowed her mouthful, and looked down at his roll. “What?”
    “Got a fork?”
    “Oh. Right.” She pushed her chair back and took her time getting his fork. Had she forgotten the way he’d teased her about getting icing all over her fingers? Or how she’d claimed it tasted better that way? Those memories were instant replay in his mind. If she’d forgotten—
    “Here you go.” She handed him the fork and sat down, digging into her roll once again. “Terrell will be sorry he missed you.”
    Probably her way of telling him not to bother coming if Terrell wasn’t home. Whatever. With his fork he cut a piece of the roll and stabbed it. “Do you remember how often we did this?”
    “Too often.” Her eyes darted to his plate, his hands, his shoulders, never reaching his face before returning to her roll.
    He leaned forward, willing her to look at him. “Why did we quit?”
    Her hand fell against the tabletop, and she sent him an exasperated look. “Because I was gaining weight.”
    “Oh.” So he’d forgotten that detail.
    He ate the bite on his fork, his gaze never leaving her profile. Somehow she wasn’t enjoying this as much as he’d hoped she would. No reminiscing, no remember when . She seemed cold, aloof, as if she didn’t want to talk to him. As if he’d done something wrong.
    Shauni would tell him to ask. “Meg, did I say something wrong last night?”
    Her shoulders slumped, but she kept on unrolling the sticky layers.
    “You clammed up and kicked me out. I want to know what I did. So I won’t do it again.” There. He’d taken the blame. That had to work.
    She glanced at him.
    He met her gaze, smiling his encouragement. If she’d just talk to him—
    “It isn’t you, Mike.”
    What? “It’s not you. It’s me,” he joked.
    She smiled at her roll. “No, really. You caught me off guard.” She shoved her chair back and walked around the peninsula to the sink.
    Mike waited while she washed her hands, but again she didn’t speak. He filled in the silence. “How’d I catch you off guard?”
    From the stairs in the foyer came sounds of a conversation. A man’s and woman’s voices neared.
    No. Not now. “Clients?”
    Meg leaned against the counter. She looked relieved. “My assistant. Her fiancé.”
    “I didn’t know you had someone working for you.” Mike joined her as a tall, slim blonde walked into the room followed by a dark, big-muscled man. Talk about opposites.
    The man’s eyes settled on him. And narrowed.
    What was this?
    The blonde quickstepped her way to Meg and grabbed her shoulder, eyes glued to Mike as she stage-whispered in Meg’s ear. “Tell me that’s not Mike Connor.”
    A fan? This, he could handle. He forced seriousness into his expression. “I’m not Mike Connor.” When confused belief registered on her face, he broke into a laugh. He held out his hand, and slowly she took it. “Hi,” he said. “Mike Connor.”
    “Dana. Jarvis,” she added, hazel eyes big. “Meg’s assistant.”
    “Nice to meet you.” He reached a hand to the man. “I hear you’re the fiancé.”
    The man hesitated before gripping his hand. His fingers squeezed Mike’s to the point of pain. “Ben Reynolds,” he said, jaw tight.
    Mike tightened his own grip before releasing Ben’s hand, resisting the urge to see if his own bore finger marks. What was up with this guy?
    “How do you know Meg?” Dana asked.
    Meg’s head lolled toward one