I'm Sure Read Free Page B

Jason?”
    He shakes his head. “No. I can boil spaghetti. Make garlic bread. My aunt’s the cook.”
    “What does she like to cook?”
    He grins, his eyes alight. “She’s a D’Annucci, too, like me. My father’s sister. She cooks Italian. Really good Italian.” He tips his head. “How about you, Megan? Would you have an Irish last name to go with the first?”
    “I do. Megan Donovan. With a sister Kelly, and a brother Sean.”
    “They live around here?”
    “No. They live in Washington, where I grew up. Around Seattle. It’s far, but I get home at least once or twice a year.”
    “How did you end up in southern California?”
    “I went to Cal Polytech for horticulture and discovered most of the other students all came from family businesses. They already knew way more than I would learn from college classes. My roommate had a family nursery outside of San Diego, so my third summer, I came down here to work.” I drag my water glass across the table. “That’s when I discovered water gardening, and I never left. My parents weren’t happy I didn’t finish my degree. I’m the odd duck in my family. But I’m doing what I want, so they’ve adjusted.”
    Jason reaches over the table and takes my hand in his.
    Much as I try scrubbing at the dirt, my nails are almost never 100% clean, and I’ve got a long scratch across my knuckles. And anyhow, in the middle of a work day, that’s part of who I am.
    He turns my hand palm up and runs his finger across the calluses.
    My heart skitters a beat at the feel of his hands cradling mine. His touch exudes caring. Imagining him tending a person in distress is easy.
    Need I say it? I like the feel of him touching me. The world is charmingly in order right here, right now. But what is he doing? “Is something wrong with my hand?”
    “Every time I see you, you’re in the water. And you’re the odd duck. I was just seeing”—he turns his head to examine my palm, his carved cheeks in profile—“if there’s a web between your fingers…”
    Bemusement laces his tone. “Like a Labrador retriever?” I retort, stifling the urge to flex my fingers; I don’t want him to let my hand go.
    He laughs and releases my hand. “My favorite animal. But a dog? No. That’s not what you bring to mind.”
    His grin is so open, so easy, I decide to divulge something I’ve never told anyone. “I did wish for scales when I was younger. I thought it would be cool to be a mermaid.” He takes me in for a beat, his gaze deep.
    “I can see that.”
    His voice is low and velvety. I draw in a ragged breath.
    And our sandwiches arrive.
    I level my breathing. We both dig in.
    He tells me about the side business he runs with one of the other firefighters. They install in-ground sprinkler systems. Now fixing his aunt’s pond makes a lot of sense. We share French fries. I ordered sweet potato, and he went for traditional. We have none of that first date awkwardness…because I think that’s what this is. A first date. A really, really good first date.
    I refuse dessert, and he insists on paying the bill. We pass back out into the deli section, and my gaze roams to the glass-covered plate of chocolate-covered macaroon.
    He’s watching me. “You do want dessert,” he chortles. He makes a move toward the counter.
    I put my hand on his arm to stop him, which feels perfectly natural. “I’m fine.”
    He twists away, placing his hand on the curve of my back to propel me forward.
    His body is now close. I inhale his distinctive fresh scent and stifle a sigh. Using our hands to communicate doesn’t feel forward, or forced…just right, like we belong operating in tandem.
    “Come on, Megan. This is one of the perks of having an active job. Dessert!”
    “Megan!” Maggie booms out. “How was your lunch?”
    You would swear Jason’s name was Megan the way she’s staring at him. “I’m over here, Maggie.” I wave.
    Jason snorts out a chuckle.
    “Lunch was good. As always.”
    She