gathered his wits about him, he resisted the urge to return her slight smile. There was no sense encouraging the kind of camaraderie they would have once shared. Not if she was about to ask him for a divorce, he thought, eyeing the brown envelope she held so tightly, clutched to her chest.
“I haven’t had one of those since…since the last time we were here together,” Charlotte said, her smile turning wistful.
“Lately I’ve been buying only a half sandwich,” Sean admitted. “Otherwise I’m too tempted to eat the whole thing myself, usually in one sitting. I asked for a whole one tonight, although I’m not sure why.”
“Lucky for me you did, or you’d probably be serving me peanut butter and jelly.”
“Oh, I would have been able to produce a fairly good grilled-cheese sandwich for you,” Sean advised her, finally allowing himself the barest hint of a smile.
“Well, that’s good to know.”
Charlotte walked to the island that took the place of a kitchen table, slid onto one of the tall black enamel stools and carefully set the envelope facedown in front of her.
“The sandwich should be ready in a few minutes.” Sean turned to the counter, set aside his glass and took the carafe off the stand of the coffeemaker. “I’ll make some coffee for you, too.”
“Actually what I’d really like right now, Sean, is a little whiskey on ice,” she said, surprising him not only with her brusque tone, but also with her unapologetic air.
While Charlotte had never been a teetotaler, she had always preferred a modest glass of wine to hard liquor. Since she’d given up even wine during the two years she’d been trying to conceive, Sean hadn’t seen her drink anything stronger than club soda in quite a while.
“I have some wine—” he began, glancing back at her.
“Thanks, but I’d prefer the whiskey tonight. It will take away the chill in my bones a little faster.”
“I can turn up the thermostat if you’re cold.”
“Just give me the whiskey, Sean,” she said, suddenly sounding exasperated. “I promise I won’t get all goofy on you. One bout of hysterical laughing and crying is enough for one night, even for me.”
Sean was about to state that he hadn’t been concerned about a repeat of her earlier behavior, but he knew that he’d be lying. The more relaxed Charlotte became, the more likely she’d be ruled by her emotions.
As he’d discovered more than once already, that would then make it almost impossible for him to deal with her in a rational manner.
Trying not to appear too obvious, he took a glass from the cabinet, filled it with ice, wordlessly poured the smallest measure of whiskey possible into it, then set it in front of her.
She met his gaze with a slight arch of her eyebrows, just enough to let him know she wasn’t stupid. Then she lifted the glass to her lips and took a healthy sip without the least hint of a grimace.
For just an instant, Sean wanted to reach across the island counter, put his hands on her shoulders and—what? Shake her senseless or pull her into his arms and kiss the smirk off her lips?
He’d be damned if he knew for sure.
“Do you think our sandwich is ready yet?” she asked as he turned to fill the coffeemaker with water, a spark of humor evident in her softly teasing tone.
Our sandwich? It was his sandwich, and he damn well didn’t appreciate her proprietary air. But to say so would only reveal to her the emotional turmoil roiling in his belly.
“Why don’t you set out some plates and napkins for us while I put the coffee on?”
“Okay….”
Charlotte slipped off her stool and next thing Sean knew she was standing mere inches away from him, her arm brushing against his as she reached up to open a cabinet door. Had he realized ahead of time that asking her for a little help would put her in such close proximity to him, he would have never done it.
His intention had been to keep relative peace between them, and he’d succeeded…to a point. Busy with dishes and napkins, Charlotte was neither guzzling whiskey nor ragging his butt. Moving around the narrow confines of the kitchen, though, she arrested his senses completely, making him just as crazy, only in another kind of way.
The scent of her favorite soap and shampoo drifted all around him, a pleasant counterpart to the spicy aroma of the sandwich coming from the oven. The subtle waft of flowery fragrance had an equal ability to stir up memories of better days…and nights, as well.
And the nudge of her hip—surely accidental—reminded him of how lithe and firm her body was beneath the sweats she wore. Fragile, too, he added to himself as he gave in to temptation and watched her arrange the plates and napkins on the island counter—not across from each other as he would have preferred, but more intimately side by side.
He had been almost sure earlier, carrying her to the living-room sofa, that she had lost weight during the months of their separation. Not a lot, but enough so that it had been evident in the sharper angles of her bones as well as in the slightly narrower shape of her face.
“All ready if you are,” Charlotte said, glancing up at him as she sat on her stool again.
Her expression shifted from open, almost eager, to wary and uncertain in an instant, warning Sean that his concern for her had likely shown on his face as something more akin to anger. No big surprise, since he didn’t like the idea that she might not have been taking adequate care of herself the past six months. But neither stirring her apprehension nor putting her on guard would do either of them any good.
“Would you like me to freshen your drink?” he asked, the echo of false cheer in his voice signaling that he was in danger of overcorrecting.
“I’m fine for now,” she answered quietly, obviously even more leery of him.
“I’ll just get the sandwich out of the oven, then.”
Relieved to have something to do, Sean slid the muffuletta off the cookie sheet onto the cutting board, deftly sliced it into quarters, then transferred it onto a serving plate that he deposited on the island counter with the merest hint of a flourish.
“Mmm, it looks as good as it smells,” Charlotte murmured, helping herself to a piece of the sandwich, careful to capture all of the melted cheese that oozed out of the bread. One bite later, she smiled at him blissfully. “Tastes as good as it smells, too.”
Trying to ignore the arrow-to-heart effect of the dreamy look in her dark eyes, Sean slid onto one of the stools across from her. He moved his plate and napkin in front of him, then took a quarter of the sandwich for himself.
“I’m glad you like it,” he said, his tone once again cool.
The look she shot at him in return held the smallest measure of disappointment.
“What’s not to like? It’s hot and fresh and full of good stuff, and I’m really hungry.”
Sliding her gaze away, Charlotte reached for her drink, took a fortifying swallow, then silently tucked into her sandwich.
Sean gladly followed her lead, though his eyes lit more than once on the brown envelope she had yet to mention. Much as he wanted to know what it held, there was a part of him that dreaded the moment when he’d find out.
Without the give and take of conversation to slow them down, they polished off their meal in a matter of minutes. Still quietly introspective, Sean rinsed their empty plates and put them in the dishwasher. He then added ice and another small measure of whiskey to each of their glasses, and finally sat across from Charlotte once again.
She had her hands clasped tightly atop the island counter. At the base of