‘‘We can juggle some time.’’ And it wasn’t so bad, he discovered, wearing a tie, eating in a place surrounded by other people. Not when he got to look at her across the table. ‘‘You look rested, Grace.’’

‘‘Rested?’’ The laugh bubbled out, making him smile uncertainly. Then her fingers squeezed his affectionately. ‘‘Oh, Ethan. I do love you.’’

THE SUN DIPPED LOWER, and the candles were lighted as they sipped wine and enjoyed a perfectly prepared meal served with flair. He told her about the progress of the boat, and of the new contract Phillip had finessed.

‘‘That’s wonderful. It’s hard to believe you only started the business this spring.’’

‘‘I’d thought about it for a long time,’’ he told her. ‘‘Had a lot of the details worked out in my head.’’

He would have, of course, she thought. Thinking things through was innate with Ethan. ‘‘Even so, you’re making it work. Really making it work. I’ve thought about coming by dozens of times.’’

‘‘Why haven’t you?’’

‘‘Before . . . If I saw you too often or in too many different places, it worried me.’’ She loved being able to tell him, to watch his eyes change when she did. ‘‘I was sure you’d be able to see the way I felt about you—how I wanted to touch you, and have you touch me.’’

The blood hummed in his fingertips as they grazed hers. And his eyes did change, just as she’d wanted, deepening as they stared into hers. ‘‘I’d talked myself out of you,’’ he said carefully.

‘‘I’m glad it didn’t stick.’’

‘‘So am I.’’ He brought her fingers over, touched his lips to them. ‘‘Maybe you’ll come by the boatyard one of these days, and I’ll look at you . . . and I’ll see.’’

She angled her head. ‘‘Maybe I will.’’

‘‘You could drop in some hot afternoon and . . .’’ His thumb cruised lazily over her knuckles. ‘‘Bring fried chicken.’’

Her laugh was quick and easy. ‘‘I should’ve figured that’s what really attracted you to me.’’

‘‘Yeah, it tipped the scales. A pretty face, sea-goddess eyes, long legs, a warm laugh—they don’t mean much to a man. But you add a nice batch of southern fried chicken, and you’ve got something.’’

Delightfully flattered, she shook her head. ‘‘And here I was thinking I wouldn’t get any poetry out of you.’’

His gaze skimmed over her face, and for the first time in his life he wished he had a talent for composing odes. ‘‘Do you want poetry, Grace?’’

‘‘I want you, Ethan. Just the way you are.’’ With a long, contented sigh, she looked around the restaurant. ‘‘And you add an evening like this now and then . . .’’ She shifted her gaze back to him and grinned. ‘‘And you’ve got something.’’

‘‘Sounds like a deal, since I like being out with you, like this. I like being anywhere with you.’’