“I like watching tennis.”
Of course. One of the few sports he didn’t care for, along with golf and bowling. He picked his fork back up. “I don’t follow tennis, but I’ve seen a few matches. They’re amazing athletes.”
She smiled and some of the tension in his gut uncoiled. So far, so good. “I’ve heard all about your television, of course. And how you’re the haven for all the guys whose wives don’t care for the yelling at the TV.”
“I guess I’m the closest thing Whitford has to a sports bar. Maybe I should institute a cover charge.” He took a bite of lasagna, giving himself a few seconds to think. “What do you do when you’re not at the town hall?”
She talked for quite some time, requiring only slight encouragement from him. He liked her voice. It was quiet and she was well-spoken, and he found her to be very intelligent. And she had good table manners.
Frowning, Max looked at his plate. Those were all nice qualities in a woman—or in anybody, for that matter—but he thought he’d feel more...excitement. Anticipation. Something.
“Are you okay?”
He looked up and noted the worried expression on her face. With a sinking feeling in his gut, he realized he’d zoned out on her. “I’m fine. I apologize. This lasagna is so good, but it’s filling and I’m trying to decide if I should keep eating or surrender.”
She had a soft laugh, more polite than happy. “It is delicious. I’m going to take the rest of mine home and have it for lunch tomorrow.”
“Are you thinking about dessert?” he asked, since she seemed to have signaled she was finished eating.
“No, but I wouldn’t mind having more decaf. Unless you’re ready to go.”
“I’d like more decaf.” He didn’t want her to think he was eager to end their evening.
And he honestly wasn’t. Nola was nice company and, when he wasn’t overthinking things, he enjoyed talking to her. Lingering over another cup of decaf sounded like a good idea.
When Ava, the waitress who usually handled dinner, stopped by, he asked for two boxes and a refill. He wasn’t a big fan of leftovers, but she was taking hers home and he didn’t want her to think he was wasteful. Besides, he was confident that Gavin’s lasagna would taste just as good after a trip through the microwave.
“I’m glad you came into the town hall,” she said, once their cups were refilled. “It’s nice to get out once in a while.”
“I probably could have found the fees on the website, but then I wouldn’t have been able to talk to you.”
The blush of pink across her cheeks felt like a win to Max. He’d said the right thing. “You can come in and talk to me anytime.”
“I was afraid you’d say no because...well, I have a reputation, from what I hear.”
That made her laugh again. “Yes, you certainly do. But you know if anybody in town actually thought you were up to no good, somebody would have put a stop to it a long time ago.”
“This isn’t exactly the kind of place where everybody turns a blind eye.”
“No, it isn’t. I might have to take my phone off the hook tomorrow because everybody’s going to want to hear about my dinner with the mysterious Max Crawford.”
“I would have taken you somewhere else, where we wouldn’t be the center of attention, but I wasn’t sure you’d want to spend two hours in the car with a rumored serial killer.”
“That’s very considerate of you.” She was really pretty when she smiled. Not as sparkly as Tori, but...well, she wasn’t Tori. But she was still pretty when she smiled.
There was more small talk and then Max paid the bill. Once outside, he saw that they’d managed to park at opposite ends of the parking lot, which meant parting ways immediately.
He couldn’t kiss her good-night right in full view of everybody in the diner. And he wasn’t sure that, although they’d had a nice dinner, they were in a kissing-good-night stage yet.
Nola pulled her keys out of her jacket pocket, and he noticed her body was half-turned in the direction of her car already. She must not think they were in a kissing-good-night stage yet, either. “Thank you for supper, Max. It was fun.”
“Thank you for sharing your evening with me. I hope we can do it again.”
She nodded slightly. “That would be nice. You know where to find me.”
He waited in his car until she pulled out of the parking lot, since it was the gentlemanly thing to do, and then he headed toward home.
Nice. It was the first word that came to mind and it seemed to fit. The evening had been nice.
Once he got home, he changed into sweatpants and brewed another mug of decaf for himself. Flipping through the television channels, he looked for something good—but not too exciting—to watch. It was time to start winding down or he’d never fall asleep.
Finally settling on a show about a pawn shop in Las Vegas, he settled back to drink his decaf. And thought about Tori.