Rodney’s fork froze in midair. “Am I on trial here?”
“Of course not.” She touched his hand before she could stop herself. Finding it a little sticky with syrup filled her panties with damp heat. “I want to understand both sides of the issue.”
It would also give her ammunition when constructing her legal strategies, but she didn’t say so. For some reason, figuring out what kind of man Rodney Walker was mattered more to her than her job.
He drank some coffee. “Okay, here goes. I grew up in the South, and I love my home and what it stands for. Hunting, fishing, and just enjoying nature. Having a little freedom from the government. Not needing it as much because we already treat each other with a code of honor. Then there’s family… Family is everything.”
“The South also stands for slavery,” she pointed out.
He set down his fork. “My ancestors were a bunch of what you’d probably call poor crackers. We never owned a single slave.”
Why not stop while she was ahead? Even if she never saw him again, she could use some panty-melting kisses before he left.
“But they probably would have if they could have afforded it,” she said, studying him over the rim of her coffee mug. “They, at least, probably believed others should be allowed to have them.”
“We can speculate all day, but no one can speak for the dead.” He shrugged. “You—folks on your side act as if the South is 100 percent about slavery and nothing else. Is that fair?”
“There’s a lot more to it than that. We’ve been treated like second-class citizens for so long, it’s just a really, really sore subject for us. Imagine being snubbed and eyed like a criminal every time you walk into a store. White people will never quite get it because they don’t know how it feels.”
“I hear you.” He nudged his plate away. “So, have you convicted and sentenced me already?”
She dragged a hand through her curls. “I’m sorry. The issue is just very important to me, and I need to know where you stand.”
“Why? No one’s forcing you to listen to my music.” He held up his hands. “I can leave right now, if you want.”
Way to drive the man right out the door. No wonder she didn’t have many dates. Dating someone on the same side would make things easier. This friendship, or whatever it was, had been doomed from the start.
“No. Please,” she told him. “I want you to stay.”
“Good.” He drained his coffee. “Just so you know, I’m glad they moved that statue.”
Her juice glass wobbled like a top as she haphazardly set it on the table. “You are?”
“Hard as we may try, we’ll never feel that racial nerve being hit quite the way you do. But when someone is uncomfortable, hurt, or—in the case of those kids going to the library—terrorized, I want to see the situation taken care of. No matter what it takes.” He stood. “And that, my dear, is a Southern value.”
She stood, too, but her hands were shaking too badly to gather the plates. She’d clean up after he left. Left… He was about to leave.
“Rodney, I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.” She gripped the back of her chair. “I guess I suck at being a hostess.”
He squeezed her arm. “No, you don’t, but I have to go.”
“So soon?”
“Breakfast tasted great, but I need to tend to some tour business. Keep my brother from getting the band into more trouble.”
“Thanks for sharing your views with me,” she said. “I guess this is it, then.”
Without so much as a goodbye kiss for her cooking efforts. Was he being the Southern gentleman or did he want nothing more to do with her? Probably the latter. She’d grilled him pretty hard.
“What’s it?” he asked.
“We’ll never see each other again.”
He framed her face with his gentle hands. “Oh, you will definitely see me again.”
Her belly tightened. “I will?”
“I want to take you on a real date. That is, if I passed your tests?”
She grinned. “You passed, Southern man.”
“Good.”
Before he walked out her door, he brushed his lips across hers, light as a whisper. She could hardly believe the same mouth that could look so hard and fierce when he sang could turn so soft and gentle. After he left, she savored their taste of syrup and coffee.
Everything she’d assumed about race was getting turned on its head, and if she saw him again, it would get worse. All the more reason to avoid him.
No, all the more reason to see him. Understanding the issues in depth from both sides would help her make partner at the firm. Heck, it might even make her the best damn civil rights attorney in the country.
“I’ll call you,” he said.
And she knew he would because a Southern man always kept his word.
* * *
A couple of weeks later, Rodney peered into the refrigerator to make sure it had enough wine. The steaks and potatoes he’d ordered from the online grocery service were safely stacked in the corner. Linda had even baked a chocolate layer cake.
She and Jack should be heading for their weekend getaway any minute. Rodney was so tired from nonstop touring, he was tempted to sleep through this break. But too much excitement jangled his nerves.
Dee’s plane landed in an hour.
She hadn’t even arrived yet, and he was already hard. He kept thinking about their breakfast. Her challenging questions coated in sweet, sticky syrup. Shooting arrows straight to his heart.
They’d have the whole weekend, just the two of them. He planned to savor every minute, and every inch, of her. Then, hopefully, he’d be able to focus on his music again. She was like a rare delicacy you didn’t dare eat too often, because if you did, it could ruin you.
The woman was an intelligent attorney and had almost given her life at the rally. She wasn’t one-night stand groupie material. Not even close. To use her as such would be disrespectful.
