He learned she lived with her mother and daughter in a two-bedroom apartment in Decatur. She told him she waited tables, but didn’t mention where she worked, choosing to hedge over the information. When he inquired about her daughter’s father, she would only say they were divorced.
He couldn’t fathom why anyone would let Celeste go, but some men didn’t appreciate the good women in their lives. His own father had suffered from the grass-is-greener syndrome, destroying their family and eventually causing him and his younger siblings to be parentless.
Roarke leaned forward and took a sip of his drink of choice—rum and Coke—managing to keep one eye trained on Celeste the entire time. When he sat back again, he asked, “Do you have any pictures of Arianna?”
“Of course.” She beamed with parental pride and pulled a digital picture keychain from her purse. After clicking the slide show option, images of a cute, brown-faced little girl at different ages glided across the small screen.
“She’s adorable,” he said honestly. The last photo drifted into place, showing Arianna smiling into the camera in front of a birthday cake with six candles on it.
“She’s the best thing that ever happened to me.” Heartfelt emotion filled her voice and eyes.
“She has a beautiful name. What made you decide on Arianna?”
“Actually, my mom named her. She thinks names are very important, and she wanted Arianna to have a special name. I went along with it when she told me what the name meant.”
“It means ‘holy one,’ right?”
Her face showed her surprise. “Yes, that’s right.”
He chuckled. “The etymology of names is kind of a hobby of mine.”
“Really?” She looked skeptical.
“What, you doubt me? Pick almost any name, and I can give you the origin and the meaning.”
“No way.”
“I’m serious. Pick one. Make it good.”
She screwed up her face into the cutest little scowl, exaggerating her efforts at concentration. “How about . . . Celeste?”
He spread his palms wide. “Come on—too easy. Give me a harder one.”
She put a hand on her hip. “You don’t know, do you?”
He cast an incredulous look in her direction, unable to believe she’d challenged him. “What? Are you questioning me, my skills, and my honesty?”
She cast her gaze upward toward the ceiling as if to think about it. “Umm . . .” Her gaze lowered again. “Yes.”
“Do you even know what your name means?”
“Of course!” Her indignation was adorable.
“All right, then. It would have been a shame for a man whose life centers around astronomy to not know this one. The name Celeste is derived from Latin. It means ‘from the heavens.’ Heavenly.” He couldn’t take his eyes off of her, and he shouldn’t have edged closer.
The smile on her face made a downward slide. Her throat muscles worked a slow swallow. “Correct,” she said.
“I know.” Roarke rested his elbow on top of the back of the sofa and let his forefinger play with a lock of her hair. She didn’t move away. The back of his hand lightly grazed more of the fine strands. With Herculean strength he resisted the urge to grab a handful. “So what do I get?” he asked.
“I don’t—I don’t know what you mean.”
“You challenged me, and I won. Don’t I get something?”
“You want a prize?”
“Yes.”
A look of uncertainty crossed her face, but after a few seconds, she offered, “How about a hug?”
“A hug is nice, but I’d rather have a kiss.” At her look of alarm, he amended his request. “On the cheek.”
Her brow furrowed in an indication of distrust. “You’re not going to do that thing where you turn at the last minute so I end up kissing you on the mouth, are you?”
Not a bad idea. “No, I’m not. I’m one of the good guys, remember?”
“Good guys don’t coerce kisses from women they just met,” Celeste pointed out.