the elephants, as she always did when she met the Willises. Mick and Dennis were, if anything, even bigger.
She liked Shelley’s family, who were always friendly, but she couldn’t help the heart-sinking feeling when they walked into the restaurant, with its gigantic TVs on every wall showing different sports events. The Willises whooped with pleasure—this was their kind of place—and promptly began talking louder.
Two long tables had been reserved for them. Jan headed for the spot farthest from the booming TV. She was about to sit when she felt her chair smoothly pulled out for her. That was not a Willis thing. Startled, she glanced up, and hear flared again when her eyes met JP’s.
He smiled down at her, and she felt her responding smile scorching her right down to her painted toes in their expensive sandals as he took the chair adjacent to hers.
* * *
He had meant to stay only long enough to say hello to the Willises and then get back to the long list of things to do but when he drove up and saw Jan’s bright head lost among the towering Willises, and the way her shoulders hitched tightly when they entered the god-awful noise of the barbeque place, he jettisoned his plans.
He was determined to somehow make it up to Jan for his awful blunders.
He pulled out Jan’s chair for her, and the smile she gave him nearly buckled his knees.
He dropped into the next chair. “Not into the sports scene?” he asked, and gesturing to the big TV behind her. Inane much? he thought, wincing inwardly. He could hand out commands rapid-fire to any number of professional people, but with Jan he was somehow reduced to high school awkwardness.
But she gave him one of those sweet smiles as if he’d said the most brilliant thing ever heard. “About as much as they’re into opera.” And chuckled, low in her throat.
His dick tightened. “I can’t tell you how many times I heard ‘Did your parents make you do it?’ when I told people I studied piano, growing up. In my turn I can’t understand how few people hear the greatness of classical music.”
“Oh, yes,” she breathed, and then in a lighter voice—as if she were afraid to be too serious, too intense—“Do you like other kinds of music?”
“Everything,” he said.
“Even rap?” She grinned a challenge.
“Especially rap. The best of them remind me of the Viking skalds. Can’t you just see rap artists declaiming in some castle before the long table of big bearded guys with their weapons on the table?”
Her lips parted. “True. So much of it is about violence, and honor, and loyalty, as well as love lost and found. Just like those old epic poems.”
“How about you?” he asked. “Any kind of music you don’t like?”
“Death metal is pretty hard on the ears,” she admitted. “And polka is pretty obnoxious unless you’re actually on stage doing the actual dance.”
“Okay, I have to admit I would probably not be first in line for a polka concert,” he said, and a sense of buoyancy filled him at the quiet, running-stream sound of her chuckle.
As the food was ordered, delivered, and eaten all around them they dove deep into a discussion of music. It was so good to talk music again that he felt heady, almost delirious as their words tumbled over each other’s, she apparently as eager as he was to exclaim, compare tastes, and debate good and bad composers or pieces.
The noise around them steadily increased, which drew them closer together, until he could smell the fresh scent of her tea tree shampoo, and see tiny reflections of one of the distant TVs in her pupils, pinpoints of color. There was absolutely no sense of time passing—he would have sworn it was five minutes—when the sound of a wailing child drowned everything else, and here was Shelley.
“The kids are getting cranky. It’s pretty late.”
Jan’s face lengthened in dismay. Then smoothed into politeness as she got to her feet. “I’m ready anytime you are,” she said
She liked Shelley’s family, who were always friendly, but she couldn’t help the heart-sinking feeling when they walked into the restaurant, with its gigantic TVs on every wall showing different sports events. The Willises whooped with pleasure—this was their kind of place—and promptly began talking louder.
Two long tables had been reserved for them. Jan headed for the spot farthest from the booming TV. She was about to sit when she felt her chair smoothly pulled out for her. That was not a Willis thing. Startled, she glanced up, and hear flared again when her eyes met JP’s.
He smiled down at her, and she felt her responding smile scorching her right down to her painted toes in their expensive sandals as he took the chair adjacent to hers.
* * *
He had meant to stay only long enough to say hello to the Willises and then get back to the long list of things to do but when he drove up and saw Jan’s bright head lost among the towering Willises, and the way her shoulders hitched tightly when they entered the god-awful noise of the barbeque place, he jettisoned his plans.
He was determined to somehow make it up to Jan for his awful blunders.
He pulled out Jan’s chair for her, and the smile she gave him nearly buckled his knees.
He dropped into the next chair. “Not into the sports scene?” he asked, and gesturing to the big TV behind her. Inane much? he thought, wincing inwardly. He could hand out commands rapid-fire to any number of professional people, but with Jan he was somehow reduced to high school awkwardness.
But she gave him one of those sweet smiles as if he’d said the most brilliant thing ever heard. “About as much as they’re into opera.” And chuckled, low in her throat.
His dick tightened. “I can’t tell you how many times I heard ‘Did your parents make you do it?’ when I told people I studied piano, growing up. In my turn I can’t understand how few people hear the greatness of classical music.”
“Oh, yes,” she breathed, and then in a lighter voice—as if she were afraid to be too serious, too intense—“Do you like other kinds of music?”
“Everything,” he said.
“Even rap?” She grinned a challenge.
“Especially rap. The best of them remind me of the Viking skalds. Can’t you just see rap artists declaiming in some castle before the long table of big bearded guys with their weapons on the table?”
Her lips parted. “True. So much of it is about violence, and honor, and loyalty, as well as love lost and found. Just like those old epic poems.”
“How about you?” he asked. “Any kind of music you don’t like?”
“Death metal is pretty hard on the ears,” she admitted. “And polka is pretty obnoxious unless you’re actually on stage doing the actual dance.”
“Okay, I have to admit I would probably not be first in line for a polka concert,” he said, and a sense of buoyancy filled him at the quiet, running-stream sound of her chuckle.
As the food was ordered, delivered, and eaten all around them they dove deep into a discussion of music. It was so good to talk music again that he felt heady, almost delirious as their words tumbled over each other’s, she apparently as eager as he was to exclaim, compare tastes, and debate good and bad composers or pieces.
The noise around them steadily increased, which drew them closer together, until he could smell the fresh scent of her tea tree shampoo, and see tiny reflections of one of the distant TVs in her pupils, pinpoints of color. There was absolutely no sense of time passing—he would have sworn it was five minutes—when the sound of a wailing child drowned everything else, and here was Shelley.
“The kids are getting cranky. It’s pretty late.”
Jan’s face lengthened in dismay. Then smoothed into politeness as she got to her feet. “I’m ready anytime you are,” she said
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