After they were served and Ben departed once again, Erin plunged her fork into a meatball, trimmed off a bite with her knife, and then rolled her eyes as she tasted it. “Oh, wow! Messy or not, Wyatt, I’m so glad we ordered this. Most times when I come here, I can’t eat all that I’m served. It’s always great the next day for lunch or dinner. But I never have leftovers with Sissy’s spaghetti. I shamelessly devour the whole meal.”

“It’s one of my favorites, too,” he admitted. “My mom makes fabulous spaghetti. Like Sissy, she simmers the marinara a full twenty-four hours.”

She arched her finely drawn brows. “My mother doesn’t, and hers isn’t very good. Or maybe it was the tension at the table that interfered with my appetite. She was always after me during meals about my manners and worried that I’d soil her tablecloth.”

“My mom doesn’t get bent out of shape about spills on her tablecloth. She’s pretty relaxed.”

As he spoke of his mother, he found himself wishing that Erin had been raised by someone just like her. She was a loving and patient woman who would have made sure Erin had a happy and normal childhood. Only that would have made Erin his sister. How in the hell could that ever work?

With a start, Wyatt realized that this cozy dinner for two had all kinds of crazy thoughts about Erin forming in his mind. Not good. He needed to keep his head on straight and remember that they were friends, only friends, and could never be anything more.

Determined to relax and enjoy her company, he did what he did best and encouraged her to talk. Producing words himself had become a lot easier over the years, but combined with lip reading over the course of an evening, it wore him out. He would say something here and there, he decided, but only enough to make her feel that they were having a normal conversation. The rest of the time, he would just take in what she had to say and watch her. He really enjoyed watching her, especially when she laughed. He liked the way she tipped her head back and let the sounds flow up her throat. Since he couldn’t hear laughter, he gauged the sincerity of it by watching the person. A lot of women flashed a demure smile and allowed their shoulders to jerk only three times. In his estimation, that wasn’t real. It was a practiced social gesture and gave no visible measure of how amused someone actually was. Erin just went with it, and he lost track of how many times her shoulders jerked because her breasts jiggled each time and distracted him. She clearly didn’t emit a dainty laugh. Hers came from the gut, and he knew it was a warm, natural expression of mirth.

“So, there, you see? My uniform is a man deterrent.”

With a start, Wyatt realized he’d stopped reading her lips to admire her breasts and had missed a large portion of what she’d said. “Oh, well. A man who can’t see beyond the uniform probably isn’t worth having, anyway.”