Honeymoon for One by Chris Keniston

the room, her good arm straight out.
    “Thank you.” Michelle sighed. “I didn’t think.”
    “No problem.” He followed the teenager into the other room and set the dishes on the table. “I gather you don’t eat in the dining room that often.”
    “Hardly ever.” She grabbed a fork and knife, and set it beside a plate. “Sometimes on Thanksgiving, or Christmas.”
    He handed her another set of silverware and waited. He didn’t have a whole lot of practice in reading teenage girls, but he knew how to read women. Since girls grow into women, something in the quiet way she moved told him she had more she wanted to say.
    “Before we’d eat in here all the time. Not just holidays, but dinner every night.” She grabbed the napkins and set one on top of the nearest plate. “Mom used to fold the napkins into pretty shapes. She used real cloth though, not paper.”
    Used to?
    Without looking up, Corrie inched over and placed another napkin. “Do you have a big family?”
    “Only child.”
    She laid the last napkin on the third plate and raised her head to meet his gaze. “Still have your mom and dad?”
    He nodded. Though some might consider not having spoken to either parent in over a decade the same as not having them, he knew that wasn’t what she was asking.
    “Corrie.” Michelle walked into the room carrying a large steaming pot. “Bring the bread, please.”
    Corrie nodded and swept passed him.
    He leaned into Michelle. “How long has it been just the two of you?”
    “I need a trivet, too,” Michelle called over her shoulder before turning to him. “Seven years.”
    “Here you go.” Corrie hurried into the room, a trivet under one arm and the bread in her good hand. “Okay, guys, I'm famished.”
    All signs of her earlier melancholy at eating in the dining room seemed to have completely vanished. Corrie prattled on, skipping from one topic to the next. From the bits of information he could glean between breaths, chemistry was a sure A, Coach Davis was an incompetent idiot, and apparently some kid named Billy Webb thinks he’s all that and a bag of chips, whatever the heck that meant.
    At varying intervals Michelle nodded and smiled, offering encouragement and support, and bristled ever-so-slightly at the mention of Billy Webb. She played the mother role well.
    Single mother.
    Reports and statistics and dollar signs started dancing about in his head. More jobs were going to be cut. HR was only the beginning. No matter how long he stalled, eventually her job would be absorbed. He would have to fire her. And how the hell was he going to manage that?
     
     

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
     
     
    "Thank you. For yesterday." Michelle stood just inside the door of Lloyd Kirkland McEntire's office. She felt two inches tall. How could she have been so wrong?
    Kirk swiveled away from his computer to face Michelle. "I'm glad it all turned out well. Your sister's a nice kid. Despite the attitude.”
    "Well." She turned the doorknob behind her back. "That's all I wanted to say." She pulled the door ajar. "Thank you.”
    "Have dinner with me?"
    She pushed the door closed again. "Excuse me?"
    "Dinner. Tonight. You and me." He paused a moment and added, "And your sister.”
    "Oh, that's very kind of you, but you don't—"
    "I'd like to." His voice dropped. "Very much.”
    And heaven help her, so did she. The man whose company she'd shared on the ship had come out to play at dinnertime. He'd made her laugh and smile, and reminded her how special he'd made her feel. Her fingers clutched at the golden charm. His parting gift.
    Maybe. No. Getting close to the real Kirk could only lead to trouble. Soon he would be leaving for Montserrat, or Kokomo, or for all she knew Timbuktu. Instead of just having her memories of their time together in a different world, if she spent more time with him here, then her memories would creep into her everyday world, and she couldn't handle that. "I'm sorry. Corrie has homework. Finals. We have to