Free Where the Heart Chooses by Tinnean Page A

bemused, as I filled it with water and
placed the roses in it. “Ah. Necessity, the mother of
invention.”
    “Yes.” Fortunately, he didn’t seem to have
noticed how my hands were shaking. I brought the impromptu vase out
to the dining room and set it at the foot of the table.
    “Portia, there are only two place settings
on your table.”
    “Yes. Didn’t I say it would just be the two
of us?”
    “Somehow you neglected to do so.”
    “Do you mind?”
    “Not in the least.”
    “I’m pleased. What would you like to drink?”
I admired his navy suit, crisp white shirt, and the midnight blue
tie he wore with it.
    “Show me where your liquor cabinet is, and
I’ll make us both Manhattans.”
    “But you drink vodka tonic.”
    “And tonight I’m in the mood for something a
little sweeter.” He’d never been in my apartment, and he looked
around. “It’s…small, isn’t it?”
    I had to laugh. It was incredibly small, and I had the feeling this had been an effort on Tony’s part
to alter my decision to move into a place of my own. What he hadn’t
realized was that the apartment he considered miniscule was cozy
for me.
    I pointed to the cabinet against a wall in
the dining room. Within were bottles of whisky, sweet and dry
vermouth, gin, vodka, brandy, port, and sherry. On top, glasses,
mixers, and a bowl of ice cubes were ready. Perhaps I couldn’t
cook, but I did know what was necessary to mix drinks.
    “While you’re making our drinks, I’ll bring
out the hors d’oeuvres.”
    He caught my hand before I could step back,
and drew me close to him. His hazel eyes were almost green,
something I’d noticed only once before, and then I couldn’t see
anything, because he was kissing me and my own eyes were
closed.
    * * * *
    “Dinner was marvelous, Portia,” Nigel said
as he raised his coffee cup to his lips.
    “I’m so pleased you enjoyed it. Would you
care for another slice of cake?” It was a rich, German chocolate
cake that had been drenched with sweetened, condensed milk. Hot
fudge sauce had been poured over it and left to set, and then it
had been topped with whipped cream and crumbled bits of toffee. I
wasn’t going to tell him that it was called “Better than Sex.” Mrs.
Plum had told me that in confidence, because if Mother ever learned
of it, she’d refuse to have it served at Shadow Brook.
    “No, thank you. One more bite, and I’ll have
to roll myself down the sidewalk to my car.”
    And we wouldn’t want that.
    “Cigarette?” I’d placed a cigarette case, a
gold lighter decorated with an enamel spray of violets, and an
ashtray, which was also decorated with violets on the table—how odd
that Folana would send them to me, when I was the one who first
gave violets to her—along with the coffee cups and dessert plates.
Now I opened the case and pushed it toward him.
    “Thank you.” He smoked Winstons, I’d
learned, and he took one out, tapped it on the back of his hand,
and lit it. Then he leaned toward me and held the flame to the
Winston I’d put between my lips.
    “Thank you.”
    “You seem partial to violets.” He ran his
thumb over the enamel violets on the lighter before putting it
down.
    “I am.”
    “And yet you won’t let me buy them for
you.”
    “I don’t buy them for me either.” I drew in
a lungful of smoke and began coughing, grateful for the
distraction. “S-sorry,” I choked as I crushed out the
cigarette.
    “It’s odd, isn’t it? How we react to
different brands? I know someone who enjoys Camels very much, and
yet the only time I accepted one from him, I coughed as if my lungs
no longer wanted to stay in my chest, and I had a sore throat for
the rest of the day.” He ran his palm in soothing circles over my
back. “Better now?”
    I drew a breath that thankfully didn’t
result in another coughing attack and reached for my napkin,
dabbing at my eyes. “Is my makeup ruined?”
    “Not in the least.” He crushed out his own
cigarette.
    “In that