her about her past, and he had hit a brick wall for his efforts.
Stupid, Compton. Real stupid. You don’t even know the woman that well and there you go asking her personal questions when you should know better.
Thank goodness their food arrived when it did. Trying to find some sort of neutral ground, Compton heaped a few of his fried onion rings onto his hamburger and took a huge bite. When he looked up, Challa was staring at him in surprise.
“What?”
“I’ve never seen a person do that before.”
“Do what? Eat their burgers with onion rings? It’s good. You ought to try it,” he suggested. Food was safe ground. It wasn’t like trying to discuss politics, or religion, or each other’s past history.
“Not today. Maybe later.” She picked up a french fry and stuffed it into her mouth. An expression of contentment came over her face. “Mmm. These are the way I love them. Crunchy on the outside and soft on the inside.”
“A french fry fanatic, eh?” Compton teased.
“They’re my most favorite food on this world,” she admitted before taking another bite of her sandwich.
Compton stared at her. “ In the world,” he automatically corrected her, and grinned.
Challa blinked. “What?”
“You mean they’re your most favorite food in the world, not on it.”
It took her a moment to comprehend what he was saying. “Oh!” Challa gave a quick nod. “That’s right. In the world.” She bowed her head as her face reddened. Compton laughed sympathetically.
“Boy, you really get into your character, don’t you?”
For a second time the look she gave him was of unconcealed confusion. It was then another explanation broadsided him, and when it did, it became Compton’s time to be embarrassed. Fuck! You did it again!
“I’m sorry. I was being glib, when I shouldn’t have… Damn. I’m sorry.”
“About what?”
“For saying what I did. I forgot you haven’t been on U.S. soil for very long, so your grasp of our colloquialisms may be sketchy. I’m sorry, Challa. It was thoughtless of me.”
Frowning slightly, Challa dropped her sandwich on her plate and leaned back in the booth. “I’m having a very hard time trying to connect with you, Compton. I want to get to know you better. I really do, but…” She paused, upper teeth pressed into her lower lip.
He couldn’t stop staring at her mouth. He wondered how it would feel to kiss her. To hold her in his arms. To have her arms around him. Somehow he found the breath to respond. “But what, Challa?”
“I don’t know,” she honestly admitted. “What kind of man are you, Compton Scott? Why do you…” She paused again, turned away, and for a stretch of time Compton wondered what she was thinking.
Before he was aware of her actions, Challa was out of her seat and heading for the door. It took him several precious seconds to get his butt in gear and go after her, yelling back at Patty and the rest that he’d be back later to pay the tab.
She was halfway down the sidewalk and almost to the square when Compton spotted her. Not hesitating, he broke into a run to catch up with her, amazed at how quick she was.
Challa had reached the green when he finally caught up with her. Grabbing her arm, he stopped her. “Hey! Wait up! What’s wrong? What did I say?”
She stared up at him, her face wet with tears. “That’s just it, Compton. You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s me. I’m…I…This isn’t…this isn’t the way I thought it would be. It’s not…” She tried to jerk her arm out of his grasp and keep walking, but his grip on her arm was solid.
She was frightened, confused, and not thinking straight, and Compton had no idea why. He scoured his brain for something he might have said or done to make her bolt the way she did, but nothing was making itself clear. Still, he knew it had to be because of him. Damn him for not having the foggiest idea what to do or say to make the situation any better!
“Challa, talk to me,
Stupid, Compton. Real stupid. You don’t even know the woman that well and there you go asking her personal questions when you should know better.
Thank goodness their food arrived when it did. Trying to find some sort of neutral ground, Compton heaped a few of his fried onion rings onto his hamburger and took a huge bite. When he looked up, Challa was staring at him in surprise.
“What?”
“I’ve never seen a person do that before.”
“Do what? Eat their burgers with onion rings? It’s good. You ought to try it,” he suggested. Food was safe ground. It wasn’t like trying to discuss politics, or religion, or each other’s past history.
“Not today. Maybe later.” She picked up a french fry and stuffed it into her mouth. An expression of contentment came over her face. “Mmm. These are the way I love them. Crunchy on the outside and soft on the inside.”
“A french fry fanatic, eh?” Compton teased.
“They’re my most favorite food on this world,” she admitted before taking another bite of her sandwich.
Compton stared at her. “ In the world,” he automatically corrected her, and grinned.
Challa blinked. “What?”
“You mean they’re your most favorite food in the world, not on it.”
It took her a moment to comprehend what he was saying. “Oh!” Challa gave a quick nod. “That’s right. In the world.” She bowed her head as her face reddened. Compton laughed sympathetically.
“Boy, you really get into your character, don’t you?”
For a second time the look she gave him was of unconcealed confusion. It was then another explanation broadsided him, and when it did, it became Compton’s time to be embarrassed. Fuck! You did it again!
“I’m sorry. I was being glib, when I shouldn’t have… Damn. I’m sorry.”
“About what?”
“For saying what I did. I forgot you haven’t been on U.S. soil for very long, so your grasp of our colloquialisms may be sketchy. I’m sorry, Challa. It was thoughtless of me.”
Frowning slightly, Challa dropped her sandwich on her plate and leaned back in the booth. “I’m having a very hard time trying to connect with you, Compton. I want to get to know you better. I really do, but…” She paused, upper teeth pressed into her lower lip.
He couldn’t stop staring at her mouth. He wondered how it would feel to kiss her. To hold her in his arms. To have her arms around him. Somehow he found the breath to respond. “But what, Challa?”
“I don’t know,” she honestly admitted. “What kind of man are you, Compton Scott? Why do you…” She paused again, turned away, and for a stretch of time Compton wondered what she was thinking.
Before he was aware of her actions, Challa was out of her seat and heading for the door. It took him several precious seconds to get his butt in gear and go after her, yelling back at Patty and the rest that he’d be back later to pay the tab.
She was halfway down the sidewalk and almost to the square when Compton spotted her. Not hesitating, he broke into a run to catch up with her, amazed at how quick she was.
Challa had reached the green when he finally caught up with her. Grabbing her arm, he stopped her. “Hey! Wait up! What’s wrong? What did I say?”
She stared up at him, her face wet with tears. “That’s just it, Compton. You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s me. I’m…I…This isn’t…this isn’t the way I thought it would be. It’s not…” She tried to jerk her arm out of his grasp and keep walking, but his grip on her arm was solid.
She was frightened, confused, and not thinking straight, and Compton had no idea why. He scoured his brain for something he might have said or done to make her bolt the way she did, but nothing was making itself clear. Still, he knew it had to be because of him. Damn him for not having the foggiest idea what to do or say to make the situation any better!
“Challa, talk to me,
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