Sing Me Back Home by Eve Gaddy Read Free Book Online

bottomed wine bottles. The high backs of the booth shut out the other diners and muted much of the ambient noise, leaving them in a cozy, intimate setting. The beautiful mural of Tuscany with its pastel golds, greens and blues on the wall beside them added to the romance of it all. A waterfall was nearby, the faint sounds of trickling water adding gentle notes to the instrumental music playing softly in the background.
    “No. I asked for it.”
    Their eyes met and they both smiled. “We’re moving awfully fast, aren’t we?” she asked after a moment.
    “Not yet.” He reached for her hand over the red and white checked tablecloth. Maya turned hers over, so that they were palm to palm. “But I’d like to.”
    Before Maya could speak, the waitress came to take their order. “They have a Chianti here that I really like.” Jack told Maya releasing her hand. “Would you like a glass?”
    “Yes, that sounds good. I haven’t looked at the menu yet,” she told the waitress apologetically.
    Jack ordered their wine and the waitress went off to get it.
    Maya studied the menu. “I’m going to have the Portobello ravioli. Have you had it?”
    “No, but I’ve heard that it’s good. I usually get Lasagna. I always think I’ll order something else, but the Lasagna is so good I end up getting it nearly every time.”
    They ordered dinner and sipped their wine, sharing an appetizer of crab cakes.
    “What happened to the adventurous boy I knew?” Maya asked. “You ordered Lasagna. Everyone orders Lasagna at an Italian restaurant.”
    “I save my adventurous nature for other things ,” he said, lifting an eyebrow and giving her a suggestive smile.
    Maya laughed. “Oh, please, tell me you didn’t say that.”
    He lifted a shoulder. “I’m out of practice.”
    “Apparently so,” she said, obviously teasing.
    If you only knew how true that statement really is, Jack thought.
    Later, during dinner, Maya asked him, “Do you still play the guitar?”
    “Sometimes.” Not very often since Brianna had died. It wasn’t until the last year or so that he’d begun to play again. He even sang a little occasionally, though his voice was even rustier than his guitar playing skills. “What brought that up?”
    “The music.” She smiled. “Do you recognize the song playing?”
    “Of course. An instrumental version of Clint Black’s ‘State of Mind.’”
    “It’s a pretty song.” Eyes dreamy, she sighed. “Songs really do bring back memories. You used to sing that when we were in high school, remember? I always wanted you to sing it to me, but you never did.”
    “As I recall, you liked Clint better. He was the one you really wanted to sing to you.”
    “I never said that,” she said indignantly. “I always thought you were great.”
    He held up a hand. “Please. You plugged in that cassette every time you got in my car.”
    “I did have a thing for Clint Black,” she admitted. “But so did all my friends. After the fiftieth time or so, you refused to let me play that tape in your car.” She laughed. “But at least you gave it to me, instead of pitching it out the car window like you threatened at first.”
    “I knew better. I just liked to tease you.”
    “We had fun, didn’t we?”
    “We did.” He held her hand and wished she was closer. “But now we have the best of both worlds. Past and present.”
    “With a long gap in between,” she added. They were quiet a moment, listening to the fading notes of the song. “Jack?”
    “Hmm.” He carried her hand to his mouth and kissed the pulse beating at her wrist.
    “I’m really liking the now.”
    Her skin was soft, like running his hands over silk. Jack imagined that all of her skin felt that way. “I am too.” He kissed his way up her arm, smiling when he heard her draw in a sharp breath.
    “What are you doing?” she asked.
    “I thought that was obvious,” he said, amused.
    “You’re kissing my arm.”
    “Yes. If we weren’t in a