“I’m sure you were a great big brother.”
A little laugh, and his thoughts seem to linger in the past. “I know entirely too much about women’s fashions.”
That makes me laugh. “My kind of guy! And how did you come by this knowledge?”
“Before Elaine could drive, she made me take her shopping.” He’s back with me now. “Chicago has nothing on all the cotillions and parties and dances in the south. God, it was never ending.”
“Didn’t she have any friends with mothers who could take her?”
“Yes.” A little shrug. “She wanted me there. So I went.”
“You two sound very close.”
He’s looking at our hands. “Not so much anymore.”
“What? Why not?” I pull mine back, going instead for my wine glass.
“She didn’t want to be a lawyer.”
I can’t help a frown, and I shake my head mid-sip. “That doesn’t make any sense... Are you saying—”
“I regret it now.” He inhales deeply and straightens, his hand moving to his place setting. “Edward is a control freak. We were expected to join the firm, keep it in the family, no exceptions. She wanted to be a teacher.”
The waiter appears. “Will that be all, sir?” I glance quickly up to him then back to Marcus.
“Want to try the Stout float?” he says with a grin.
I want to hear the rest of his story. Everything about him has become intriguing to me, and I hate cliffhangers. “Not really.”
Reaching in his pocket, he pulls out a slim leather wallet and passes a black card to the man. “It seems we’re finished here.”
The waiter smiles and does a little bow before taking off for the check. Marcus turns to me, and I just say it. “I’d like to hear more.”
“Not much more to tell.” He shrugs. “I agreed with him. I thought she should be a lawyer, too. She’s underpaid and undervalued—”
Dropping my eyes to the table, I finish his thought softly. “She disagreed with you.”
“She still does.” He leans down to catch my eye. “It’s okay. We’re working through it.”
I consider his words. Now I know why he doesn’t mind my bossy personality. He’s a leader, but I’ve never been a good follower. I also understand his surprise tenderness.
“Come back to my place,” he interrupts my reverie. “I’ll order you an insomnia cake.”
Blinking up, I give him a playful scowl, suspicious of his motives. “What’s that?”
He quickly fills in the check, signs, and moves out of the booth to stand. “All-night bakery. They deliver.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“I never kid about cake.”
He extends his hand to me. This protective man, his baby sister, his stubborn side, his contradictions... All of it swirls in my mind in a delicious consommé, and through it all, my insides are quiet. No signals.
I take his hand, and once again, our fingers lace.
Chapter 8: Lawyer Bites
Marcus