Home for the Holidays: The Forgetful Bride / When Christmas Comes. Debbie Macomber
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minor slip,” she reminded him, pressing the bread sticks into his hand. “Now eat.”
Before Joe had a chance to open the package, the hostess approached them with two menus tucked under her arm. “Mr. and Mrs. Rockwell. Your table is ready.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Rockwell,” Cait muttered under her breath, glaring at Joe. She should’ve known she couldn’t trust him.
“Excuse me,” Cait said, standing abruptly and raising her index finger. “His name is Rockwell, mine is Marshall,” she explained patiently. She was not about to let Joe continue his silly games. “We’re just friends here for lunch.” Her narrowed eyes caught Joe’s, which looked as innocent as freshly fallen snow. He shrugged as though to say any misunderstanding hadn’t been his fault.
“I see,” the hostess replied. “I’m sorry for the confusion.”
“No problem.” Cait hadn’t wanted to make a big issue of this, but on the other hand she didn’t want Joe to think he was going to get away with it, either.
The woman led them to a linen-covered table in the middle of the room. Joe held out Cait’s chair for her, then whispered something to the hostess who immediately cast Cait a sympathetic glance. Joe’s own gaze rested momentarily on Cait before he pulled out his chair and sat across from her.
“All right, what did you say to her?” she hissed.
The menu seemed to command his complete interest for a couple of minutes. “What makes you think I said anything?”
“I heard you whispering and then she gave me this pathetic look like she wanted to hug me and tell me everything was going to be all right.”
“Then you know.”
“Joe, don’t play games with me,” Cait warned.
“All right, if you must know, I explained that you’d suffered a head injury and developed amnesia.”
“Amnesia,” she repeated loudly enough to attract the attention of the diners at the next table. Gritting her teeth, Cait snatched up her menu, gripping it so tightly the edges curled. It didn’t do any good to argue with Joe. The man was impossible. Every time she tried to reason with him, he did something to make her regret it.
“How else was I supposed to explain the fact that you’d forgotten our marriage?” he asked reasonably.
“I did not forget our marriage,” she informed him from between clenched teeth, reviewing the menu and quickly making her selection. “Good grief, it wasn’t even legal.”
She realized that the waitress was standing by their table, pen and pad in hand. The woman’s ready smile faded as she looked from Cait to Joe and back again. Her mouth tightened as if she suspected they really were involved in something illegal.
“Uh…” Cait hedged, feeling like even more of an idiot. The urge to explain was overwhelming, but every time she tried, she only made matters worse. “I’ll have the club sandwich,” she said, glaring across the table at Joe.
“That sounds good. I’ll have the same,” he said, closing his menu.
The woman scribbled down their order, then hurried away, pausing to glance over her shoulder as if she wanted to be able to identify them later in a police lineup.
“Now look what you’ve done,” Cait whispered heatedly once the waitress was far enough away from their table not to overhear.
“Me?”
Maybe she was being unreasonable, but Joe was the one who’d started this nonsense in the first place. No one could rattle her as effectively as Joe did. And worse, she let him.
This shopping trip was a good example, and so was the pizza that led up to it. No woman in her right mind should’ve allowed Joe into her apartment after what he’d said to her in front of Lindy. Not only had she invited him inside her home, she’d agreed to let him accompany her Christmas shopping. She ought to have her head examined!
“What’s wrong?” Joe asked, tearing open the package of bread sticks. Rather pointless in Cait’s opinion, since their lunch would be served any minute.
“What’s wrong?” she cried, dumbfounded that he had to ask. “You mean other than the hostess believing I’ve suffered a head injury and the waitress thinking we’re drug dealers or something equally disgusting?”
“Here.” He handed her one of the miniature bread sticks. “Eat this and you’ll feel better.”
Cait sincerely doubted that, but she took it, anyway, muttering under her breath.
“Relax,” he urged.
“Relax,” she mocked. “How can I possibly relax when you’re doing and saying things I find excruciatingly embarrassing?”
“I’m sorry, Cait. Really, I am.” To his credit, he did look contrite. “But you’re so easy to fluster and I can’t seem to stop myself.”
Their sandwiches arrived, thick with slices of turkey, ham and a variety of cheeses. Cait was reluctant to admit how much better she felt after she’d eaten. Joe’s spirits had apparently improved, as well.
“So,” he said, his hands resting on his stomach. “What do you have planned for the rest of the afternoon?”
Cait hadn’t given it much thought. “I suppose I should wrap the gifts I bought this morning.” But that prospect didn’t particularly excite her. Good grief, after the adventures she’d had with Joe, it wasn’t any wonder.
“You mean you actually wrap gifts before Christmas Eve?” Joe asked. “Doesn’t that take all the fun out of it? I mean, for me it’s a game just to see if I can get the presents bought.”
She grinned, trying to imagine herself in such a disorganized race to the deadline. Definitely not her style.
“How about a movie?” he suggested out of the blue. “I have the feeling you don’t get out enough.”
“A movie?” Cait ignored the comment about her social life, mainly because he was right. She rarely took the time to go to a show.
“We’re both exhausted from fighting the crowds,” Joe added. “There’s a six-cinema theater next to the restaurant. I’ll even let you choose.”
“I suppose you’d object to a love story?”
“We can see one if you insist, only…”
“Only what?”
“Only promise me you won’t ever expect a man to say the kinds of things those guys on the screen do.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me. Women hear actors say this incredible drivel and then they’re disappointed when real men don’t.”
“Real men like you, I suppose?”
“Right.” He looked smug, then suddenly he frowned. “Does Paul like romances?”
Cait had no idea, since she’d never gone on a date with Paul and the subject wasn’t one they’d ever discussed at the office. “I imagine he does,” she said, dabbing her mouth with her napkin. “He isn’t the type of man to be intimidated by such things.”
Joe’s deep blue eyes widened with surprise and a touch of respect. “Ouch. So Martin’s little sister reveals her claws.”
“I don’t have claws. I just happen to have strong opinions on certain subjects.” She reached for her purse while she was speaking and removed her wallet.
“What are you doing now?” Joe demanded.
“Paying for lunch.” She sorted through the bills and withdrew a twenty. “It’s my turn and I insist on paying…” She hesitated when she saw Joe’s deepening frown. “Or don’t real men allow women