Page 118 of Disarming Caine

Tyler touched my arm. “You’re the one who took Sam to the hospital gala in the summer, aren’t you?”

I turned to face the men. “It was more that we were not on speaking terms, my sister conspired for us to run into each other here, and we agreed to make a date out of it.”

Samantha nudged my shoulder. “Stop that.”

“That sounds like a good story,” said Tyler.

“Sì, it’s an excellent story, but telling it would likely require that Samantha not be sitting next to me.”

Tyler laughed. “She’s always been so serious.”

Samantha dropped her fork onto her empty plate and held her wineglass toward a server. She had told me her ex-husband had left her for another man, whom he’d married. Obviously, this was Tyler, but she had not told me she knew him separately from Matthew.

“Have you known her long?” I asked.

He put his hand on my arm. “Good heavens, yes.”

“This will be an entertaining dinner. I have not met many of Samantha’s friends outside of her family.” Picking up my fork, I dug into my salad. “I want to know everything there is to know about her.”

Matt leaned forward and raised his voice enough for Samantha to hear him over the hum of voices and background music. “How goes the thinking, Sam?”

“Trying to enjoy the food right now, Matt.” She speared a piece of cheese from my salad.

“Thinking?” I asked.

Matt looked from her to me and back again, his brow creasing. “Just a work thing.”

“Work thing?” There was an unspoken conversation between them, but I’d no idea what it was.

A server arrived to refill her wineglass and she took another swallow. “Matt’s trying to get me to sign on with Foster permanently.”

Every molecule of my body wished to rejoice. Throw down the fork, leap from my seat, and swing her around. A permanent job in Brenton was an even bigger step than finding her own apartment. But the way her shoulders sagged and Matt shifted uncomfortably in his seat. She didn’t wish to speak of it, and he realized he’d stepped over a line.

Her FBI dream pulled her away from Brenton. Foster pulled her to it. And I made it clear I’d follow her regardless of which decision she made.

“I apologize, Matt.” I patted Samantha’s thigh. “She’s not had much time to think, as I’m keeping her busy while I’m in town. After I leave, her brain will be free.”

“You don’t live here?” asked Matt.

We continued to speak through the meal, discussing travel, wine, and food. Matt and I shared a passion for cooking, so spent quite a lot of time trading favorite recipes. They told me stories of adventures the three of them had taken, avoiding anything which might cause too much discomfort for the divorced half of the conversation.

After her second glass of wine, Samantha grew more social, laughing and teasing the men over inside jokes going back a decade.

Once the meal was done, the dance floor opened and the music switched from the background to the foreground.

“If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen.” I stood and straightened my jacket. “This is what I’ve been looking forward to since I got home.”

I pulled out Samantha’s chair and bowed, presenting a hand to her. She slid her fingers into my palm, her smile broadening with every passing second.

“Me, too,” she said.

We wove between tables, between people pushing out their chairs and standing. It was time to dance, to mingle, to explore the dessert buffet. But all I wanted in the world was to hold my lovely girlfriend next to me and forget everything else existed.

We arrived on the dance floor—after several interruptions along the way—to a romantic song, sweet and lovely. I spun her slowly one time and brought her to me.

“How long until midnight?” she asked.

“Two more hours.” I guided us around the floor, careful with her in the heels she called excessive. “Brazil and Greenland are ringing in the New Year now. We could join them.”