Free What He Didn't Say by Carol Stephenson

of her family and how they were always there for her. Instead of the man before her, she suddenly saw a lonely boy making his own meal. Sadness mixed with compassion welled up in her.
    â€œThat must have been rough.”
    He shrugged off the comment. “I survived.”
    He removed the crisp bacon and laid the strips on a paper towel. “Plates, please.”
    She handed him one and he piled on a generous serving of eggs and bacon. “Hey, leave some for Jeff and Sandy!”
    Amusement sparkled in his eyes. “Jeff told me I was on my own for breakfast and entrusted me with Emily Rose under penalty of death. I had to prove I knew how to pick up and hold her before he went to check on Sandy. He looked like a man on a mission.”
    â€œOh.” Remembering the laughter from the bedroom, Emma-Lee smiled and handed him the second plate.
    After he heaped on the rest of the eggs, he followed her to the banquet and sat across the table. They dug into the food. Beside them the toddler sipped from her cuppie. After a few minutes of companionable silence, she dared to continue the topic of his family.
    â€œIs your father still teaching?”
    â€œYes.” Holt drank some of his coffee.
    She forked a bite of egg. When Emily Rose opened her mouth expectantly, she smiled. “Here you go, sugar.” She fed the toddler several more bites before asking, “Did your father ever finish his book?”
    â€œYes.” Holt’s mouth twisted. “And before you ask, the small press at the university where he works did publish it. In the sterile world of his contemporaries the book did well. But you won’t find it at any commercial bookstore.”
    Her face heated and she laid down her fork. “I didn’t mean to pry.”
    â€œSure you did. You’re inquisitive about people. It’s what makes you who you are.”
    The rough edge to his voice suggested that he didn’t necessarily think curiosity was such a good trait. More than a table separated them. Their view of how to relate to others gaped before her.
    The toddler banged her cuppie and raised her plump fist. “Em-a-lee. More juice.” Emma-Lee grabbed the cup before it went flying, twisted off the top and poured in more juice. After securing the top, she handed the cup to the toddler. All the while she puzzled over her growing feelings for Holt.
    How could you care about another if you didn’t know them beyond the surface presented to the world? Still, the image of the young Holt abandoned in his time of emotional need disturbed her.
    She reached across the table to touch his hand. “For what it’s worth, I’m sure your father is very proud of you and what you’ve done in honor of your mother’s memory.”
    Holt caught her fingers before she could withdraw. The link sent a jolt through her with tension coiling in her stomach. Could he not feel the connection?
    He squeezed gently, just enough to convey a warning. “Emma-Lee, I’m not one of those people you can collect and fix. Dad chose his path a long time ago, and I made do with mine.”
    He turned her hand over and studied the lines as if he was trying to read her future. “Forget about my parents, my past. I want to know if you think there’s something happening between us?”
    She stood on the precarious edge of the chasm of vulnerability. To declare one’s sentiments without a safety net of knowing if the other person felt the same way. The leap of faith.
    Emma-Lee took a deep breath and dived off that tenuous span.
    She curled her fingers around his. “Yes, Holt.”
    Briefly, he closed his eyes, but when he reopened them, a volatile mix of relief and desire burned in them. Tension radiated from him as he leaned across the table. She met him halfway.
    His mouth settled on hers, soft and warm. The unexpected gentleness of the kiss tied her system into knots. He rose, bringing her up with him. He moved