The Rebel and His Bride Read Free

smile and turned around. “Hello again, Reverend. What hasn’t changed?”
    “You still love fudge-swirl ice cream.”
    “I’m just picking this up for Gran.”
    “Right. And I was just picking these up”—he held up a five-pound bag of peanuts in the shell—“for the board of deacons.”
    “Do they get the shells in their hair too?” Annabelle snapped her mouth shut, horrified at the words that had slipped out unbidden.
    Gregory’s smile was disturbingly intimate. “No. That honor was reserved solely for you, Annabelle.”
    Silence fell for a moment, and she squirmed as the store seemed to get warmer. This was a bad idea, she thought. A really bad idea. After nearly drowning in memories earlier that afternoon, she didn’t need to know that he still remembered the way it had been between them. Their relationship had been hot, intense, impassioned. Until other things had gotten in the way.
    Was it her imagination or was Gregory’s voice huskier when he said, “I’m glad you haven’t forgotten. I never have.”
    Annabelle only wished she could forget. She turned her face toward the front of the store, pretending a great interest in the display of assorted picnic coolers. “I haven’t thought much about it,” she said, hoping she sounded nonchalant. “I don’t know where that comment about the peanut shells came from.”
    “I used to brush them out for you, remember? I loved brushing them out of your hair.” His fingers flexed as if even they hadn’t forgotten the feel, and his eyes were dark with memories.
    Annabelle sighed. For sanity’s sake, it was best to put a quick stop to any more reminiscing. “Gregory, that was long, long ago, in a galaxy far, far away. We’re two different people now. Why rehash such old business?”
    “We’re not so different, Princess Leia.” He again lifted his bag of peanuts and nodded at her ice cream.
    “This is one of the very few holdovers from my childhood,” she said, tilting her chin up. “I’ve changed a lot in nine years.”
    “Oh. Well, then, you wouldn’t be interested in the jars of crushed praline chips they have here.”
    Praline chips? Annabelle couldn’t help it. Her eyes widened with sudden avarice. “Where?”
    “I thought that might get you off your high horse,” Gregory said mildly. “I’ll tell you where they are if you’ll bring the ice cream by the church office and share a dish with me.”
    “I see preachers aren’t above a little petty blackmail sometimes.”
    “If the occasion warrants it,” he drawled. “You should see what lengths I’ll go to to enlist new members for the church choir. Do you accept my offer?”
    Annabelle hesitated. She knew that was the worst possible idea, but she only had a couple ofpeople in front of her in the line. She looked behind Gregory and counted six people. If she got out of line to look for the praline chips herself, the cashier would get to Gregory and he wouldn’t be able to save her place. But now that she knew about the praline chips, she just had to have them. She sighed. “Deal. Where are they?”
    “The ice cream aisle, on a shelf over the freezer compartment. I’ll save your place in line.”
    Gregory smiled to himself as she dumped the ice cream in his arms and took off toward the back of the store. Annabelle might say she’d changed, but she still loved fudge-swirl ice cream with crushed praline pieces on top.
    Without warning a memory slammed into his head of Annabelle sitting cross-legged in his bed, her impossibly wavy hair tousled from their love-making, wearing only his T-shirt and a smile as she offered him a spoonful of ice cream. She said she loved fudge-swirl ice cream better than anything else in the whole world—except him—and wouldn’t it be wonderful if they could think of some way to combine the two.
    It hadn’t taken long for them to think of some very creative ways to grant her wish. Gregory felt his body stir at the thoughts going through his head. Not