Saint & Sinner - A Second Chance Romance

“Nope.”

“Caleb’s a great name,” she said. “It suits you.”

“Thank you,” I replied gravely.

The waiter arrived with our first course then. Salmon Tartare, and we got right into it. It was delicious. I was more than content to sit silently there with her eating the most delicious thing I’d ever had in my life, but I was no longer at the canteen. I was out in society, where civilized conversation was part of the ritual of eating.

“Did you just move into town?” she asked.

My nerves tightened in my stomach at the line of questioning that was approaching. The salmon in my mouth suddenly felt flat and tasteless. I didn’t feel good at all about the responses I was going to have to give her. “I did.”

“Where did you come from if you don’t mind me asking.”

“New York,” I replied, “and no, I don’t mind you asking. I wanted a change of pace.”

“Well, if a change of pace is what you wanted, then you’ve made a 180° tilt. Things move at a snail’s pace here in Folsom compared to New York.”

I watched as she lifted a small piece of fish to her lips and slipped the tiny morsel between her lips. Lust uncoiled like a serpent in my belly. It had slept for many, many years, but it was well and truly awake now. “You don’t like it here?”

“Don’t get me wrong,” she said. “New York sounds like an exciting holiday, but I love it here. I have the flower shop and my parents. I could never live far away from them. I owe them everything.”

She put her fork down.

“My mom is a breast cancer survivor. We thought it was over and done with, but she had it return. After her last round of chemo, she became a shadow of herself. My dad took her to Florida for a holiday.”

“I’m sorry about your mom.”

“She’s getting better. What about you?” she asked. “‘What will you be doing here in Folsom?”

I swallowed my drink of water, and used the napkin to wipe the corners of my lips. “I run a brokerage firm so I’m going to bring that down here to see how it can perform.”

“That’s great. I wish you all the best here in Folsom. I should have brought a congratulatory bouquet with me.”

I shrugged. “You weren’t to know. How about you? How long have you been in Folsom?”

Her eyes moved away from me. I needed to know what she remembered about her past. Up till now, most of it had been hearsay so it was best to confirm it from her very lips.

“I moved here from a small town called Bitter Creek. It’s about an hour and a half away. That’s where my uncle used to live until he was murdered and his house burnt down by a kid with social problems. Apparently, it was just a random act of evil. No one knows why he did it. He never told anyone.”

She shuddered. I was gripping the fork so hard I was afraid I would bend it. I forced the words out. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“It’s okay. I have almost no memory of him or that night.” She gives an awkward laugh and picks up her glass of wine. “It would seem I probably saw the killer and ran away from the murder scene. Unfortunately, they say I must have tripped along the way and fell, hitting my head. When I woke up I had lost two years of memory. Those two years have never come back.”

Little glasses of lemon sorbet were served. I let the cold sweet ice melt on my tongue. Ah, how much I had missed locked away in prison. I stared at Willow and felt like the luckiest man alive.

The evening continued on with light, pleasant conversation. She smiled easily, and the conversation flowed. It was during our third course of steak au poivre with scalloped potatoes that she asked me a question I wasn’t ready to answer.

“Why did you ask me out to dinner?”

I took my time patting the corners of my mouth with my napkin as my brain scrambled to search for a response. I couldn’t tell her the truth, but I didn’t want to be nonchalant in my response either.

“I felt a deep attraction to you, and I wanted to get to know you better.”

She blushed. “Oh.” She lifted her glass to her lips. I detected a hint of disappointment in her tone and it near drove me crazy.

Soon, the dinner began to wind to a close, and the time came for dessert. I knew that she would especially enjoy the cherry clafoutis baked with chocolate pieces. Back then, she’d loved everything that had chocolate in it.

I watched as she enjoyed the sweet, the deliciousness of it all made her eyes close and her shoulders roll up to her ears.