one brow. "Red sneakers with or without glitter?"
"All her shoes are red. And of course there's her name. Dorothy Gale." He gave her a blank look and she shook her head disapprovingly. ''Obviously you don't know your Wizard of Oz.''
''Wizard of...'' Neill started to grin. ''You're kidding, right?"
"Absolutely not. The movie opened on Dorothy's eighth birthday. They had the same name, and Dorothy even had an Aunt Em. The similarities had a powerful influence. As far as I know, she's worn red shoes ever since."
"Tell me she has a dog named Toto," Neill begged,
"A cat, actually." Anne grinned when he laughed. "She doesn't like dogs, but, over the years, she's had a whole series of cats, all of them named Toto."
"I love it." He saw her eyeing his plate and, picking up a French fry, offered it across the table. "Have a bite."
She leaned forward without thinking, only becoming aware of the casual intimacy of the moment when the crisp fry brushed her lips. Idiot , she thought. He expected you to take it from him, not to feed it to you. Now he's going to think you're a total moron. But it was too late to pull back gracefully, so she opened her mouth and took the fry with as much grace as she could manage.
Despite her determination not to, she looked at him as she drew back, and the heat in his eyes made it clear that his thoughts were not on her IQ or lack thereof. No one had ever looked at her like that, as if they were contemplating the possibility of nibbling on any part of her that might be within reach. Her pulse skittering, she lowered her eyes, staring blindly down at her salad while she tried to think of something casual to say.
"When you think of it, it's a really good thing that Dorothy didn't share a name with Bela Lugosi," Neill said, breaking the silence before it could become uncomfortable. "Red shoes are a minor eccentricity, but it would be pretty hard to carry off a cape in this kind of weather."
Anne laughed a little more than the comment warranted and hoped he wouldn't notice that her cheeks were flushed.
That was how David Freeman saw her as he walked up to the table—laughing, her face delicately flushed. He hesitated, his expression suddenly still. He'd known Anne her whole life, and he'd never seen her look like that. Looking at the man with her, he had no trouble guessing the reason for the extra color in her cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes. She looked...happy, he thought, and it was only seeing her that way that made him aware of the shadows that were usually in her eyes.
His expression thoughtful, he walked up to the table. "Hey, Anne."
"David!" Her smile changed, became self-conscious. "I didn't see you there."
''Just came in to pick up lunch." He nodded to Neill. "I was going to head over to the motel later, tell you what I found out about your bike."
Neill grimaced. "That sounds ominous."
"Good grief, I didn't realize how late it was." Anne glanced at her watch and immediately began sliding out of the booth. "I was due back at work twenty minutes ago." She hesitated long enough to give Neill a quick, shy smile. "It was nice talking to you. Good luck with your bike."
Before he could say something casual—like "How about dinner tonight?" or "Would you like to bear my children?"—she was hurrying toward the door. The strength of his urge to follow her kept Neill where he was. He was leaving, he reminded himself. Leaving. Going to Florida to soak up the sun. No plans. No commitments. Most especially no commitments.
"So, what's the story on the parts?" he asked
David as he slid out of the booth and reached for his wallet.
The other man had turned to watch Anne leave. When he turned back, there was an expression in his eyes that Neill couldn't read— an odd kind of watchfulness and something that might have been a question.
"It...may take a while," he said slowly. "Tarts for Indian motorcycles aren't all that common. I have a couple of sources. One of them thinks he'll be able to lay
"All her shoes are red. And of course there's her name. Dorothy Gale." He gave her a blank look and she shook her head disapprovingly. ''Obviously you don't know your Wizard of Oz.''
''Wizard of...'' Neill started to grin. ''You're kidding, right?"
"Absolutely not. The movie opened on Dorothy's eighth birthday. They had the same name, and Dorothy even had an Aunt Em. The similarities had a powerful influence. As far as I know, she's worn red shoes ever since."
"Tell me she has a dog named Toto," Neill begged,
"A cat, actually." Anne grinned when he laughed. "She doesn't like dogs, but, over the years, she's had a whole series of cats, all of them named Toto."
"I love it." He saw her eyeing his plate and, picking up a French fry, offered it across the table. "Have a bite."
She leaned forward without thinking, only becoming aware of the casual intimacy of the moment when the crisp fry brushed her lips. Idiot , she thought. He expected you to take it from him, not to feed it to you. Now he's going to think you're a total moron. But it was too late to pull back gracefully, so she opened her mouth and took the fry with as much grace as she could manage.
Despite her determination not to, she looked at him as she drew back, and the heat in his eyes made it clear that his thoughts were not on her IQ or lack thereof. No one had ever looked at her like that, as if they were contemplating the possibility of nibbling on any part of her that might be within reach. Her pulse skittering, she lowered her eyes, staring blindly down at her salad while she tried to think of something casual to say.
"When you think of it, it's a really good thing that Dorothy didn't share a name with Bela Lugosi," Neill said, breaking the silence before it could become uncomfortable. "Red shoes are a minor eccentricity, but it would be pretty hard to carry off a cape in this kind of weather."
Anne laughed a little more than the comment warranted and hoped he wouldn't notice that her cheeks were flushed.
That was how David Freeman saw her as he walked up to the table—laughing, her face delicately flushed. He hesitated, his expression suddenly still. He'd known Anne her whole life, and he'd never seen her look like that. Looking at the man with her, he had no trouble guessing the reason for the extra color in her cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes. She looked...happy, he thought, and it was only seeing her that way that made him aware of the shadows that were usually in her eyes.
His expression thoughtful, he walked up to the table. "Hey, Anne."
"David!" Her smile changed, became self-conscious. "I didn't see you there."
''Just came in to pick up lunch." He nodded to Neill. "I was going to head over to the motel later, tell you what I found out about your bike."
Neill grimaced. "That sounds ominous."
"Good grief, I didn't realize how late it was." Anne glanced at her watch and immediately began sliding out of the booth. "I was due back at work twenty minutes ago." She hesitated long enough to give Neill a quick, shy smile. "It was nice talking to you. Good luck with your bike."
Before he could say something casual—like "How about dinner tonight?" or "Would you like to bear my children?"—she was hurrying toward the door. The strength of his urge to follow her kept Neill where he was. He was leaving, he reminded himself. Leaving. Going to Florida to soak up the sun. No plans. No commitments. Most especially no commitments.
"So, what's the story on the parts?" he asked
David as he slid out of the booth and reached for his wallet.
The other man had turned to watch Anne leave. When he turned back, there was an expression in his eyes that Neill couldn't read— an odd kind of watchfulness and something that might have been a question.
"It...may take a while," he said slowly. "Tarts for Indian motorcycles aren't all that common. I have a couple of sources. One of them thinks he'll be able to lay
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