Her heartbeat picked up as she saw Shane standing there, even though his image was distorted by the lens.
When she opened the door, her breath caught. Obviously he’d done something similar—gone home and changed into an outfit that he hadn’t worn to work. In this case, it was a blue-and-white-striped, short-sleeved shirt and a pair of dark slacks.
They stood looking at each other for a long moment, each of them seeming a bit uncertain.
“Nice dress,” he said. “The blue looks great on you.”
“Thanks.” She turned back to get her purse and a shawl, in case it was chilly in the restaurant.
“Where are we going?” she asked, as he led her downstairs to the SUV.
“I made a reservation at the Fire Station. I guess I should have asked first.”
“I haven’t heard of it.”
“It’s a fun place in Silver Spring. A combination restaurant and brew pub in a former firehouse that’s almost a hundred years old.”
“That does sound like fun.”
They drove to the restaurant, which had been remodeled into a bar and two-story dining area. Instead of a podium, there was a desk made from the front of an old fire engine. A statue of a Dalmatian dog sat on the floor beside it.
“I asked for a table upstairs where it’s quieter,” Shane said as the hostess led them past a bar where the lights in the barrel-vaulted ceiling kept changing color. They ascended a set of wide steps with openwork metal railings to a large balcony room overlooking the main floor.
As Elena had at lunch, she ordered iced tea when the server asked what they wanted to drink, and Shane got one of the beers on tap.
“They make great battered onion rings,” he said. “We could share some for an appetizer—unless you don’t like them.”
“I do,” she answered, thinking how strange it was to be sitting here with this man. She’d known her parents wanted her to marry someone who’d come from San Marcos. She’d never explicitly said no, but she knew that wasn’t what she was picturing for herself. She wanted to be in the mainstream of American society, with… She stopped herself from finishing the thought, then looked up and found Shane watching her. What was he thinking about her? Was he thinking relationship? Or was he going to start asking her about Arnold?
She ordered seafood risotto for dinner, and he ordered a rare rib-eye steak.
“How are things at work?” he asked as he sipped his beer. Was he being casual, or was he probing?
“Good. There’s nothing urgent on my desk right now,” she answered. “How about for you?”
“I’m settling in.”
The onion rings arrived, and they each reached for one. When their hands collided, they each drew back quickly.
“Sorry,” he murmured.
“I think we’re both hungry,” she said, then wondered if the words had a double meaning. Focusing on the rings, she took a couple of bites.
“These are good.”
“You told me you like reading. What else do you do for fun?” he asked.
“You already saw my apartment. I like going to garage sales and picking up finds. I guess that goes back to my roots, where you always bargained in the marketplace.” She took another bite. “What about you?”
“I guess I’m a movie buff.”
“Action adventure?”
“Only if there are characters I can get into.”
“Did you see Avatar?”
“Yeah, I liked the way they translated traditional values to that planet.”
“Pandora,” she supplied. “I loved the way the good guys won—and they weren’t the humans.”
“Yeah. What’s your favorite music?”
“Well, I don’t understand why people think rap is music. I like the oldies. Creedence Clearwater Revival.”
He hummed a little of “Proud Mary.” “How did you get into that?”
“Music was a way to understand America.”
“A good way. If you don’t take everything you hear as gospel.”
She wanted to know more about him and asked, “How did you hear about the security chief job?”
He hesitated for just a moment. “Networking at a conference. I ran into Ted Winston, and he said he was retiring.”
Was that truly how he’d heard? Did that hesitation mean he had some reason to fudge his answer? But why would he?
“Do you think Bert Iverson was mad when he didn’t get the position?”
He gave her a steady look. “I don’t think so. Bert likes being number two and not having so much responsibility. Why do you ask?”
She took a bite of onion ring and swallowed, wishing she hadn’t brought up the subject of the assistant security chief. Finally she said, “I was just wondering. I mean, if I’d been at a company for a few years and someone from the outside was hired for a job I’d been qualified for, I might be…”—she paused for a moment, then chose the word—“resentful.”
“He’s always been helpful to me. In fact, he showed me the ropes when I came on board.”
“That’s good.”
Shane shifted in his seat, and she knew her comment had made him think about Iverson—perhaps in a different light. “Did you hear anything about his being unhappy about my taking the security chief spot?”
“No. I was just relating to how I’d feel,” she answered, taking a chance and letting him know what her reaction would have been.
“Some people don’t want added responsibility.”
“I like it when people rely on me.”
“Do you have aspirations to be head of IT?”
She gave him a startled look. “Me? I’m much too junior.”
“But you must have plans.”
“I always thought I’d work for a while—then get married.” She stopped short, wondering how that sounded on a first date. If this was actually a date.
She was glad when the server chose that moment to arrive at the table with their food.
The young woman set the risotto in front of Elena and the steak in front of Shane.
“Is there anything else I can get you?” she asked.
“I think we’re fine,” Shane answered and glanced at Elena for confirmation.
She nodded in agreement.
After she’d taken a few bites, he asked, “How’s the risotto?”
“Good. Do you want to try some? Or is it lady food?”
He laughed. “I’m not one of those guys who won’t eat quiche, and I like risotto, but not as a main dish. I’ll see how it tastes, if you’ll take some steak.”
They exchanged some of the food, both of them saying they liked the other’s meal. Elena was thinking she’d never done this with a guy before. It was strangely intimate.
Shane cut a piece of steak and ate it before asking, “I was thinking about your car. Could anybody have disabled it to harass you?”
“Why would someone do that to me?”
He shrugged. “Well, you were on television. Maybe somebody made you a target because of that.”
“Does that make sense?”
“As much as anything else these days.” He kept his gaze on her. “Or is there someone who might have a more personal reason to go after you?”
She felt a little shiver climb up her spine. “I don’t think so. Why would they?”
“Are you having problems with anyone at work? Or anyone in your family?”
The question came too close to home, and she wished he hadn’t opened the subject. Could the car incident have something to do with her brother? And then there was that car she’d thought was following her.
“You’re thinking about who it might be,” he said. It wasn’t a question, but a statement.
For a split second, she thought about mentioning her brother. Then she warned herself that was a bad idea.
“It’s nothing I want to talk about,” she said quickly.