Some Kind of Wonderful (Puffin Island 2)

They ordered without paying too much attention to the menu or the other people seated in the restaurant.

“A toast to our first proper date?” She raised her glass and smiled, her mouth a glossy curve.

He kept his expression neutral. “I have a distinct memory of buying you a pepperoni pizza from Jack’s. I can’t believe that moment isn’t etched into your memory.”

“Actually it is. It was great pizza. We ate it on South Beach. That was the night I decided I was going to have sex with you. It was two days after my eighteenth birthday.”

Zach felt hot all over. “I remember that night.”

“I dragged you to the cave and tried to get you naked. You showed a frustrating degree of self-control.” She leaned forward, silver earrings swinging. “I like the way you look in a jacket and tie. Makes me want to unwrap you.”

“So unwrap me.” Anything to reduce the sweltering heat. He wanted to fling open a window or demand that the restaurant staff turn up the air-conditioning.

“Not yet. Part of the fun is the anticipation. I bet you were one of those kids who opened all your presents on Christmas Eve.” Her merry smile faded and she looked guilty. “I’m sorry. That was so thoughtless of me. I wasn’t thinking.”

“Why are you sorry?”

“For being tactless.” She looked annoyed with herself. “Christmas must have been a horrible time for you.”

“It was no different from any other day.”

“That’s what I mean. It was a thoughtless thing to say.” She reached across the table and covered his hand with hers. “Again, I’m sorry.”

“You have no reason to be sorry. I’ve told you, you don’t need to watch where you step with me.”

“When I hurt a friend, I apologize.”

“I can’t imagine you hurting anyone.”

“Not intentionally, but we’re all human. And when I’m more human than I’d like to be, I apologize.” Her light tone was in direct contrast to the firm grip of her fingers.

He glanced down. Her nails were short and gleamed with clear polish, her fingers slim and delicate compared to his.

He didn’t know whether it was the warmth of her hand or the compassion in her voice, but something unraveled inside him.

“My first year in foster care, they had a large Christmas tree.” The words came from nowhere, without any forward planning on his part. “It was the first time I’d seen one up close. It was covered in huge sparkly decorations and chocolate wrapped in shiny paper.”

Her eyes lit up with humor and understanding. “You ate the chocolate. Of course you did. You were a kid. There was chocolate on the tree. It’s a no-brainer. And then you were probably sick.”

He could stop now.

He could let her leave with that version of the story in her head.

Or he could tell her the truth.

“I’d never tasted chocolate before, but I’d been hungry often enough to have learned that when I saw food it was best to take it. I took it.”

“Crap, Zach—” The laughter had gone from her eyes but her hand stayed on his. “You were hungry?”

“Most of the time. Sometimes I managed to steal something from the fridge, but there were plenty of days where there was no food in the house.” Days when the vicious gnawing pains in his stomach had been so bad he would have eaten just about anything that could be chewed and swallowed. “There was a grocery store close to our apartment.” He wondered if apartment was really the right word to describe the cramped, filthy space that had been his home growing up. “I often helped myself to breakfast.”

“Did they catch you?”

“No. I made sure they didn’t. Or maybe they guessed but decided letting a bony kid eat one meal was their charitable act for the day. I don’t know.” He shrugged. “On my first day with my foster family, I opened their fridge and it was full of food. I ate everything I could cram into my mouth.”

“I hope they refilled the fridge instantly. Did they have kids of their own?”

“Their kids had grown up and left home. I was their first foster kid. Their good deed. The way they were judged by the community. In their own way they kept me as trapped as my mother had. They didn’t trust me not to screw up and embarrass them.” He sat back as their food was delivered. “They deserved an easier start than me. I didn’t fit their notion of a dream child. They were expecting gratitude, but by then I knew that the only person looking out for me was myself. I was all about survival. I ate their food and I slept in clean sheets, but I gave them nothing in return except an almighty headache.”