Free A Fine Romance by Christi Barth Page B

power of it would’ve dropped him on his ass. Her face transformed with that smile, and her eyes lit up. She looked genuinely happy, approachable and downright beautiful. A smile like that could practically be weaponized. It could make men leap tall buildings, or at least feel like they could, as long as she kept smiling.
    “You know what?” She stretched out her arms along the backs of the seats and lifted her face to the sun. “It is a spectacular summer day. This morning’s shower cleared out most of the humidity, and I’m on a river on my first day off from my fabulous new job. Delightful doesn’t begin to describe it.”
    Something was off. Sure, he liked this version of Mira about a thousand percent better than the one who’d boarded the ship five minutes ago. But the change was too abrupt, as though she’d flicked a switch. While Sam had as little understanding as most men of a woman’s mind, it was obvious something was off. He’d rather deal with it now than spend the afternoon braced for the next unpredictable mood swing.
    “What’s wrong?” he asked. “When you bit my head off without meaning to—was there another reason? Did you get turned around on the El and have to backtrack a few stops?”
    “No. The city of Chicago didn’t invent public transportation, you know. It isn’t that complicated.”
    Okay, now her sass was back, but at an acceptable level. “Spill,” he ordered.
    Her prim and proper side took the lead and straightened in her seat, crossing her ankles. “We’re practically strangers. It wouldn’t be appropriate for me to burden you with my problems.”
    “Sounds like a line from a soap opera.” His mother kept a tiny set in the back of the bakery just to stay current with her soaps. The number of times she manufactured an excuse to hustle to the kitchen and catch a few minutes astounded him. Whenever possible, Sam turned it to C-SPAN, but a lot of daytime drama had trickled into his brain nonetheless. “Look, everyone has problems. They tend to get better if you share them.”
    Mira shifted again. She fiddled with the bill of her cap, then tucked her hands under her thighs. The engines rumbled to life, but the noise didn’t fill the empty thought balloon hanging over her head. As they pulled into the grayish-green center of the Chicago River, the other fifty passengers cheered and clapped. And still Sam waited. The sound system let out an earsplitting whine. After a couple of thumps on the microphone, the guide started his practiced spiel. Facts, figures and historical tidbits came fast and furious.
    “My parents called,” Mira said in a quiet voice.
    That was her big mood-killer? Sam worked elbow to elbow with his mom ten hours a day, and he didn’t go around biting off people’s heads. Not even when said mother offered up his only free afternoon to babysit the snippy new girl. “Oh, the horror.”
    “Obviously you and your mother have a close relationship.” She slid him a knowing, sidelong glance. “Maybe too close, according to Gib.”
    “I object. Hearsay.” Everyone said the British were reserved and tight-lipped. So how come Gib flapped his jaws nonstop? The man was almost as bad a gossip as Milo. They both could chitchat the girls in their group under the table.
    “Well, consider yourself lucky. Not everyone enjoys that level of closeness.” Mira looked away again. Was it an interest in the glass-and-steel skyscrapers along the water’s edge, or simply a desire not to look at him? “I don’t get along with my parents. At all. And I assure you, the feeling is mutual.”
    “That’s too bad.” Sam couldn’t imagine living like that. His family had always been so tight-knit. The bottom dropped out of his world when his dad died, and they were all still struggling two years later to pick up the pieces. Out of that encompassing sadness, the one bright spot was that he and his mom grew even closer. The flip side was his worsening relationship with his