October Fest

he’d lit the fireplace, along with hundreds of candles. The Jacuzzi, thankfully, was not bubbling.

“How dare you,” I said.

The look of embarrassed expectancy slipped off his face, replaced by confusion. “What?”

“You think just because you reserve a room and buy some candles that I’ll sleep with you?”

He flinched as if I’d slapped him. “Mira, that’s not it. I just wanted a quiet night with you, on neutral ground. To talk.”

“Talk?” I jabbed a finger toward the candles behind him.

He dropped his gaze and ran his fingers through his hair. “I should know better than to listen to Mrs. Berns,” he said under his breath. He brought his eyes back to mine, and like always, looking into those deep blues made my heart skip a beat. “Look, Mira. I didn’t do this so you’d sleep with me. I’d love that, yeah, but that’s not what tonight is about. Just give me a chance. One evening, fully-clothed, to convince you that I’m the right guy.”

The angry, Tourette’s-dusted mice in my brain were whizzing and scratching, goading me to say something mean or inappropriately funny to push Johnny away, again and for good. Before they could get the better of me, I threw myself into the room and bulldozed Johnny out of the way so I could slam the door shut. My mood swing gave me whiplash. “Okay. I’m in. But don’t expect anything.” Damn. One mouse must have escaped.

His grin broke open. He spread out his arms so I could take in the whole room. I couldn’t resist the impish smile on his face. I turned to follow his gaze and saw a candlelit table with a white tablecloth. On top rested a gorgeous blooming African violet alongside a frosted bottle of sparkling grape juice and two champagne glasses, a pizza from Zorbaz—cheese and green olive, if my nose was not mistaken— 34