Free Trust Me by D. T. Jones Page B

expected and she suddenly realized she was very disappointed in his reaction. She didn’t want to leave; she wanted to stay there, and she wanted him to continue kissing her.
    “The day is young,” he said as he slipped her hand in his again, stepping backward out of her arms. “We have plenty of time. Right now, we need to get something to eat before we miss our reservation.” He began to walk toward the door, escorting her by his side.
    “Where are we going?” she snapped, irritated by his rejection. She didn’t feel very agreeable and knew she sounded like a sulking child, but she didn’t care; there was a heat warming areas of her body she didn’t know even had a thermostat. He stopped by the door frowning as he looked down at her and then smiled again.
    “Do you open your presents before Christmas?” he asked with amusement.
    “Yes I do,” she lied, hoping he would answer her question, but instead he laughed cheerfully; the sound reverberated around the quiet room and he lifted her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles softly.
    “Good thing this isn’t Christmas then, eh?” He opened the door and held it for her, waiting as she retrieved the key card and slipped it into her shoulder bag along with her cell phone, bikini, camera, wallet and passport. She was feeling slightly less angry then a few moments ago, but she was still irritated.
    Sandra looked at the carefree expression on his face, the heart melting smile and twinkle in his dark blue eyes and couldn’t help but smile. If this man wasn’t so damned handsome, it would be easy to accept him as a friend, as is she would rather accept him as much, much more.
     
     
    Lunch was light and quite frankly, delicious, as they ate at a small sidewalk café on the boarder of Nice. The sun was warm and the breeze soft, barely more than a whisper as it caressed their cheeks and necks. Sandra placed her fork down on the plate, pushing the remains of her Salade Nicoise , while Creighton slid his empty plate of Steak Fritas toward the vacant seat next to him and reached for his espresso.
    The café was nearly deserted, so they chose to sit beneath the warm sun, but their solitude was quickly interrupted by a small group of teenagers. The restaurant was really quite nice, very modern in design, but there was little spoken between them as the five teenagers sat nearby laughing, talking and listening to music on their cellphones. Sandra reached for her diet soda and took a reluctant sip; she felt really full and wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. It was difficult to consider how much to eat when she still didn’t know where they were going.
    “Why did you choose France as a holiday spot?” Creighton asked a few minutes later after the table of young people finished their meals and finally left, taking their noise with them. They were now alone on the patio and able to speak without shouting at each other in order to be heard.
    “I have always wanted to see the French Riviera,” she answered him, taking another sip of her soda. “My parents honeymooned here and I loved listening to my mother talk about the clear water and the friendly people. It became a dream of mine when I was younger and after my parents died, I promised myself I would someday come here. I guess I just wanted to find something in common with them.”
    “How did your parents die?” His tone was soft as he leaned back in his chair, looking across at her. She took a deep breath; she hadn’t thought about their deaths for so long and it seemed odd to discuss it over a casual meal with a near perfect stranger, like reviewing a movie or a new book release.
    “A tornado,” she answered simply, lowering her eyes from his intent gaze.
    “If you don’t want to talk about it, I won’t push you?” She sighed; she didn’t mind talking about her parents and to speak of them with him somehow felt…comfortable.
    “It was during my junior year of High School; I was barely sixteen. I