Read Online Sleeping Alone by Barbara Bretton - Free Book Online Page B

to Dee?” John asked her.
    She nodded.
    “And she said you had the job?”
    She nodded again.
    “So don’t worry about it.”
    “But what about the owner? What if she didn’t ask him and he comes back and fires me?”
    “That’s not going to happen.”
    “How do you know it’s not going to happen? I don’t have any—” She almost bit off the tip of her tongue in her haste to stop her words.
    “Experience?” he asked.
    Color flooded her cheeks. “I didn’t say that.”
    “You didn’t have to. It’s obvious.”
    “What do you mean, it’s obvious? You don’t know the first thing about me.”
    “I have eyes,” he said.
    “And what is that supposed to mean?”
    “Waitresses don’t pay cash for their houses or wear Burberry raincoats and Ferragamo loafers.”
    She opened her mouth to say something witty and cutting, but no words came out. She’d blurted out the truth to Dee. Why was it so much harder to tell him?
    A funny little grin lifted the left side of his mouth. A funny little flutter rippled through her belly.
    Next to her, Eddie cleared his throat. She’d forgotten his presence entirely. “Bailey needs to get a good foot under her,” he said, edging toward the door while the dog danced at his feet. “We’ll meet you back home, Johnny.”
    “You’re going to let him walk home in his pajamas?” Alex asked as Eddie closed the door behind him.
    “It’s not like this is the first time.”
    “It’s raining,” she said, horrified. “He’ll catch his death.”
    “He’s not going anywhere,” John said. “He’s sitting in the truck smoking a cigarette.”
    “But he said he was going to walk home.”
    The look in his eyes almost melted her on the spot. “My old man says a lot of things, Alex. Believe me, he’s in the truck.”
    She parted the living-room curtains and looked outside. “You’re right,” she said. “He’s in the truck.” She turned back to John. “You were right about something else, too: I’ve never waited tables before.”
    “Does Dee know?”
    “I told her.”
    He whistled low. “You’re either the most honest woman on the planet or the craziest.”
    “Crazy,” she said. “Definitely crazy.” She started to laugh, softly at first, so soft he wasn’t sure it was really happening. That serious face of hers suddenly broke apart like the sparkling pieces of a kaleidoscope, then came together in a brilliant smile.
    “Poor Dee,” she said. “I hope she doesn’t regret it. I don’t know the first thing about waiting tables.”
    He couldn’t take his eyes off her. If she’d been beautiful before, she was otherwordly now. He’d never seen a woman so transformed by something as simple as a smile. “That English accent of yours will have the crowd at the Starlight eating out of your hand in no time.”
    Her smile wavered. “What English accent?”
    “Tomato, to-mah-to—your accent.”
    “I was born in New York City.” She looked uncomfortable somehow, as if she hated to give up even that much of herself, but maybe that was his nonexistent romantic imagination kicking in, creating mysteries where there weren’t any.
    “Back at the diner you said you’d lived abroad.”
    She looked away as the kaleidoscope shifted one more time, and her smile disappeared. You’re pushing, Gallagher. It’s none of your business.
    “Forget I said anything.” He crossed the living room to the front door. “Thanks for the coffee.”
    “No problem.”
    “And for taking Eddie in.”
    “I enjoyed his company.”
    “See you at the Starlight,” he said.
    “Yes,” she said. “See you at the Starlight.”
    If he was looking for something more, she wasn’t about to oblige. He turned to leave. The rain had turned icy while he was inside. He had a vision of himself tumbling down the three brick steps to the ground, but he managed to keep his footing and slid his way toward the truck. Behind him he heard the sound of the front door squeaking shut, followed by the