Honourable Intentions. Catherine Mann

shadows across his face. In his flight jacket and khakis, he could have been any military guy coming home with supper for his family. Yet even with the anonymity of the shadowy light, she would never for a moment mistake him for anyone but himself.

      The light clink of silverware across the room broke the spell, and she looked over to find a private waiter setting up things for them. Hank held out a chair for her at her little table that had been transformed with silver, china and a single rose. This was a world away from the sandwich and milk she’d planned for herself.

      Their waiter popped a wine bottle—the label touting a Bordeaux from St. Emilion.

      She covered her glass, even though her mouth watered. “No, thank you. I’m a nursing mom.”

      The waiter nodded and promptly switched to an exclusive bottled water as Hank took his seat across from her.

      “Whatever that is smells amazing.” She plastered on a smile as the waiter served their meal, then quietly left. “I concede you’re the king of late-night takeout food. If that tastes even half as good as it smells, it’ll be heavenly.”

      “So the little guy’s down for the count?” His eyes heated over her, briefly but unmistakably lingering on her legs.

      Was his head tipping to catch her scent? She had to be mistaken, sleep deprived and hallucinating. And if she wasn’t, she needed to get her priorities in order. Max came first, and for him, she needed to eat and keep her strength up.

      “Sorry about the wine but Max is nursing as well as bottle feeding.” With his digestive problems, he fed more often than she could keep up with, even expressing. But that was far more detail than she wanted to share with him. “He will sleep for another hour and a half.”

      “You’ve got to be flat-out exhausted.” He tipped back his water goblet.

      “I’m not the only single mom on the planet.” She set out silverware and napkins. “I’ll survive.”

      And survive well with the meal in front of her. Aromas wafted upward to tempt her with hickory-roasted duck, cornbread pudding and on and on until her mouth watered. Reaching for the fork, she realized she was really hungry for the first time in months.

      Sure, maybe she was avoiding talking for a few minutes longer, letting herself be normal for just a stolen pocket of time.

      Until she couldn’t avoid the burning question any longer… .

      Without looking up, she stabbed a fork into the corn bread pudding, mixing it with a roasted-corn salad. “What did you mean by saying Kevin had forgiven us?”

      Hank set his fork down carefully on the gold ring edging the plate. “He didn’t seem to know any details other than we had feelings for each other. He said he understood, and he wanted us both to go on with our lives.”

      Gasping in horror, she dropped her fork. Shame piled on top of the guilt. Kevin had known. Somehow he’d seen her confused feelings when she’d thought she’d hidden them so carefully. He’d been so argumentative just before leaving, picking fights with her about anything because she wouldn’t agree to move closer. She’d held her temper in check because of his upcoming deployment—until nerves got the better of her.

      He’d wanted her to skip out on work and party with him, but nerves were already chewing her over the last time he’d partied, gotten reckless and forgot birth control. She’d told him she was tired of always having to be the adult in their relationship. He’d snapped back, telling her to go hang out with Hank, then, since he was mature enough for ten people. The fight had been hurtful and a product of fears about him leaving.

      How damn sad that a ridiculous fight led her to act on those feelings, to kiss Hank.

      She flattened her shaking hands to the table. “Are you saying Kevin gave me to you in a dying declaration?”

      “Not in so many words.” He reached for his water glass. “He said he loved you, he forgave us both and then he mumbled something about being sorry for not taking you out for gumbo.”

      Tears welled fast and acidic. The enormity of what Hank had said, of his showing up here in the first place, exploded in her brain, then came back together like puzzle pieces fitting into an unsettling image. “You aren’t actually expecting to pick up where we left off with that kiss, are you?” She pressed her fingers against her speeding heart. “Because that would be incredibly crass, if you came here looking for an easy pickup off your friend’s death.”

      He choked on the water. “That would be crass.”

      “Glad we agree on that much. So why are you here again?”

      “Gabrielle—” he set his glass down “—I’m here to tell you Kevin’s last thought was of you, that he loved you and let you go. End of story. Or so I thought. But finding out Kevin had a kid? That changes everything.”

      Now he was sticking around because of Max? That should make her happy. Her son was everything, after all. Hank had said he wanted to be a stand-in dad. Yet something about the notion of him being here for her baby felt off. “Max doesn’t have to change anything. You’re free to go.” She shoved her chair back sharply, just barely catching it before it tipped to the floor. “He is not your child, and he’s not your responsibility.”

      Hank shot to his feet and grabbed her shoulders. “You know me better than that, Gabrielle. Do you honestly think I’m the kind of man who could walk away now?”

      “You feel guilty.” She gripped his polo shirt, the cotton warm from the heat of his body. “Even though he released you, you still feel bad about that kiss. Well, consider yourself absolved by me, too. I instigated it. My fault. Bye-bye.”

      She let go, pushed him away and raised her hands before she succumbed to the temptation to crawl right into his arms.

      “Bull.” He twined his fingers with hers. “What happened that night—it was me. I kissed you, and yeah, I still feel guilty as hell because if I had the chance, I would do it again.”