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“Don’t you recycle?”
“I would, but I don’t do a lot of shopping. I eat most of my meals out.”
Did that translate into: I date a lot? Or did that mean he was so caught up with work at the office and meetings he had to attend that he didn’t have the time or the inclination to prepare meals at home?
Either way, she supposed it wasn’t any of her business.
As she reached into one of the two bags that contained her frozen food, Hector did, too, and their hands grazed each other. She jerked back, more from the sizzle of his touch than the surprise of it.
“Whoops,” he said, tossing her a smile. “It looks like we were both thinking the same thing.”
That the frozen food needed to be put away before it thawed?
Or that that they were fated to catch each other’s eye repeatedly, and drawn to touch?
Hector took several packages of vegetables to the freezer and put them away.
Samantha peeked into yet another tote bag, pulled out a loaf of wheat bread and placed it in the pantry.
After Peter died and she’d gone to stay with her mom, she’d paid someone to go into the kitchen, to empty the cupboards and donate the canned food and the dry goods to a local soup kitchen. So the shelves had been bare for years. But just last week, when the cleaning crew had been here, she’d asked them to wash all the dishes and wipe down the entire kitchen prior to her arrival.
She found herself actually looking forward to filling the shelves. Maybe a growing urge to nest was a side effect of her pregnancy. It made sense.
While closing the pantry door, she stopped to rub the small of her back, which was still a little tender. She suspected her pregnancy and her growing girth made her think about every little ache or pain more than she otherwise might.
Still, in hindsight, she probably should have asked the cleaning crew to pack up Peter’s belongings and haul them all out to the garage, too. But she hadn’t liked the idea of a stranger digging in her closets and drawers and sorting through all of the personal items.
Yet even though the house and furniture were familiar, she felt a little … uneasy about being back on Primrose Lane. So much had changed.
“What’s the matter?” Hector asked.
She offered him an unaffected smile as she removed her hand from her back. “Nothing.”
“Did you hurt yourself?” he asked.
“Not really. I was just shuffling a few boxes earlier and might have strained a muscle. It’s actually feeling better now.”
His expression grew concerned. “You shouldn’t have moved things around in your condition.”
No, she probably shouldn’t have. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”
“Sit down,” he told her. “I’ll put away the rest of this stuff.”
For some reason, she didn’t object. Instead, she took a seat at the table and watched him put the groceries and cleaning supplies where they belonged, instructing him whenever he asked—and sometimes even when he didn’t. She hated to admit it, but she’d always been a little fussy about her kitchen.
He pulled out a small container of cinnamon, as well as the nutmeg and sea salt, and headed for the pantry.
“No, not in there,” she said. “I put the herbs and spices in the cupboard to the right of the stove. I like having them handy when I cook.”
His movements slowed as he turned to face her, and his head tilted to the side. “You’re not planning to cook tonight, are you?”
“I was. But I’ll probably just fix a bowl of cereal—something light and easy.” She really didn’t need anyone to tell her she might have overdone things earlier today.
“I’ve got an idea.” His eyes, a pretty golden brown shade, brightened, and he tossed her a crooked smile. “I’ll take you out tonight. There’s a new bistro down on the corner of Fourth and Highland that I’ve been meaning to try. And I hate eating alone.”
So he did have a lot of dates. She meant to tell him no thanks, which was the wisest thing to do. Yet she was giving his invitation a lot more thought than she should have. Although that was probably because she couldn’t remember the last time she’d actually gone out, been waited on and pampered since her return from Europe.
“Come on,” he said. “You’d like something tastier than cereal tonight, wouldn’t you?”
Actually, she would. But did she really want to have dinner with him again? At a restaurant?
She should have made an excuse, told him that she preferred having a bowl of the Raisin Bran she’d just bought, but for some strange reason—loneliness, boredom or something else altogether?—she agreed. “When do you want to go?”
“I just got back from the gym, so I’ll need a shower. But it won’t take me long. Fifteen minutes, maybe. Unless you need longer than that.”
“Give me twenty, okay?”
“You’ve got it.” He tossed her a boyish grin, and her heart tumbled in her chest.
Uh-oh. She needed to get a grip. He was just being friendly and extending a neighborly gesture.
Or was he?
The next thing she knew, she was heading for the closet to find an outfit to wear. Then she would jump in the shower and put on fresh makeup. She probably ought to shampoo her hair, but she’d said twenty minutes, and she hated to make him wait on her.
Besides, going out with Hector was no big deal, she told herself on the way upstairs. It was just two neighbors trying a new restaurant in town.
Yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that this seemed to be a whole lot more than that.
For some crazy reason, it felt way too much like a date.
Chapter Three
Hector couldn’t believe he’d asked his pregnant neighbor out to dinner, but at the time he’d made the offer, it had seemed like a natural thing to do.
His sister, Yolanda, had told him about The Old World Bistro, saying that she and her husband had really enjoyed it and recommending it highly. So he’d planned to check it out, anyway. It didn’t seem to be the kind of place he’d want to dine alone, so he’d asked Samantha to come along.
Now, after showering, splashing on a dab of aftershave and slipping on a pair of black slacks, a white button-down shirt and a sports jacket, he was heading over to Samantha’s house to pick her up.
The storm had finally passed by, leaving the lawns and grounds wet, but as he walked next door, he savored the earthy, after-the-rain scent that clung to the plants and shrubs.
When he reached her stoop, he rang the bell and waited for her to answer. She was an attractive woman, so he’d expected that she would look nice when she swung open the door. But he hadn’t been prepared to come face-to-face with a beautiful, statuesque blonde who could put Katherine Heigl, his favorite Grey’s Anatomy actress, to shame.
She’d pulled her hair up into a twist, revealing pearl studs in her ears. And she’d applied a light coat of mascara that emphasized the biggest, bluest eyes he’d ever seen. Expressive eyes that boasted a warmth he rarely saw in people these days.
The adolescent in him wanted to utter “Wow …” but the man in him bit his tongue.
Had a woman ever appealed to him more?
He couldn’t help scanning the length of her, completely forgetting she was pregnant until he noticed how her classic black dress fit snugly over her baby bump. Yet he still found her as sexy as hell.
But he’d be damned if he’d ogle her any more than he probably already had.
“You’re ready,” he said, making light of it all.
Her lips, which bore a pretty shade of pink lipstick, parted, and she glanced at her bangle watch. “You said twenty minutes …?”
Yes, he had. But he’d never known a woman who could pull off getting dressed within the time allotted, especially when it appeared as though she’d been fussing in front of the bathroom mirror for hours.
“You look great,” he said.
“Thanks.” Her face lit up, as if she hadn’t been complimented in ages and had taken it to heart. Then she reached for her purse, which had been sitting by the door on an entryway table, locked up the house and walked with him to his car.
The soles of their shoes—his Italian leather loafers and her sling-back heels—clicked upon the sidewalk and echoed in the evening air, which was clean and fragrant after the rain.
Her shoulder brushed his upper arm, setting off a rush of hormones in his blood, and he had the strangest compulsion to take her hand in his. He didn’t, though, and the fact that he’d wanted to made him realize he might have made a big mistake by asking her out to dinner.
But there was no way to backpedal now, so he shook it off, determined to enjoy a casual, carefree evening with his neighbor—even if he wasn’t feeling the least bit neighborly.
Once inside his car, he stole a glance at her, saw her profile as she glanced out the passenger window.
Damn, she looked good sitting across the console from him.
Nevertheless, he turned on the ignition, started the car and backed out of the driveway.
Ten minutes later, they arrived at the bistro. He parked at the curb, just two shops down from the entrance, and escorted her to the front door.
A hostess in her mid-thirties stood at a podium and welcomed them.
“Reservations for Garza,” he told the woman.
“Yes, sir. Right this way.” She reached for two faux-leather-covered menus and led them to a linen-draped, café-style table in back, where a violinist played softly. Votive candles and a single red rose in a bud vase added to a romantic ambience Hector hadn’t expected.
He pulled out Samantha’s chair, and before taking a seat, she scanned the white plastered walls, the dark wood trim and the various pieces of art that had been tastefully placed throughout the restaurant.
“What a nice place,” she said. “I don’t remember seeing it before.”
“It opened up about six months ago.” He sat across from her. “I was told the service was excellent and the food even better than that. So I’ve been meaning to try it.”
“Who told you about it?”
“My sister and her husband found it one day while they were shopping, and they’ve been raving about it for weeks.”
“Your sister?” she asked. “The pregnant one?”
He nodded. “Her name is Yolanda, and she’s my only sister.” He chuckled. “She’s three years younger than I am, but you’d never know it. She’s been mothering me for as long as I can remember.”
Samantha smiled and leaned into the table, clearly engaged in the conversation. “Do you have any brothers?”
“One. His name is Diego.”
“So your parents had three children?”
“Yes.”
Her smile broadened, and her blue eyes glimmered in the candlelight. “That’s a nice family size.”
He shrugged. “I guess it is.” He’d never thought about his family in terms of the number of siblings he had.
Was she thinking about having another child down the road, maybe giving her baby a brother or sister?
He couldn’t blame her for wanting to create a family, but you’d think that she’d consider adding a husband for herself, and a father for the baby. Yet that didn’t seem to be part of her game plan, and he wondered why.
Had she loved Peter too much to consider replacing him in her life?
That was hard to imagine. But then again, maybe that was because Hector hadn’t really liked the guy. Either way, it wasn’t any of his business.
Silence settled over them until the maitre d’ arrived. “Can I start you out with a bottle of wine?” he asked.
“Not for me,” Samantha said. “I’ll stick with water.”
Hector ordered a glass of merlot from his favorite California winery.
“Good choice, sir.” The maitre d’ motioned for one of the other waiters to bring water for the table, then left.
When they were alone, Samantha leaned forward again and said, “I’m curious about your sister.”
“What about her?”
“How’s she feeling? When is she due? Has she taken any childbirth classes?” She gave a little half shrug. “Just that sort of thing.”
“Oh,” he said. “I get it. Being pregnant means the two of you have a lot in common. And now that I think about it, I’ve noticed that expectant mothers tend to gravitate toward each other at every opportunity.”
“What makes you say that?”
“I’ve been with Yolanda at a couple of social events recently, and she’s drawn to any other pregnant woman within fifty feet of her.”
Samantha chuckled. “I’d probably do that, too. I’m going through so many physical and emotional changes right now. It would sure be nice to have someone to share it all with.”
But not a husband?
Why had she gone the sperm-donor route to get pregnant? A woman as beautiful as Samantha shouldn’t have had any trouble finding a man willing to donate his sperm—especially the old-fashioned way.
Hector certainly would have been tempted.
“You know,” he said, resting his forearm on the table, “this really isn’t any of my business, but I’m surprised that you went to the Armstrong Fertility Institute.”
“Why would that surprise you? They’re one of the most reputable and successful fertility clinics around.”
