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she turned to face him. "Don't worry about it. I'll see you in the morning." |
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"No, really. I'd make you dinner, but I'm not much of a cook. What do you say to Italianmy treat?" |
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Was he? Dates for Christian McCall were few and far between. Not to say he didn't like women; he just didn't get the opportunity to meet many in his solitary line of work. And the ones he did meet hadn't incited his romantic nature. Until D.J. |
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He pushed that thought away. "Not a date, exactly. Let's call it a working dinner. I can ask you some of the questions I should have been asking you today." |
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D.J. hesitated, staring at him with suspicion. "All right," she said, drawing the two words out as if she were making the decision as she spoke. "I do have to eat." |
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"Right." Chris looked down at the sweatsuit he'd changed into at the day-care center to work with the preschoolers. "I'll take a shower and change; then I'll come by and get you in say, an hour? Give me your address." |
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D.J.'s face froze; then she glanced up and down the street, as though expecting to see someone. She even looked up at the descending night, then shook her head. "I'd rather meet you at the restaurant." |
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"Why? Do you live with your crazy old aunt or something?" |
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"Or something," she muttered. "Just tell me where to meet you for my free meal, McCall, and let's get on with it." |
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