Prandi stifled a giggle as she watched the stupefied expression on Paul’s face. Silly American boy. That’s what you get for thinking you’re God’s gift to women. Close your mouth before you swallow a fly! She turned to smile at Jameson, hoping to share her mirth with him, and then was left just as stupefied as Paul was, her mouth falling open despite herself.

It was the look on Jameson’s face. One of almost tangible tenderness. One of heartbreaking affection. It was like the look her mother sometimes gave her, one that said, I love you, despite myself. No – I love you, because of myself. It was like that look, but this look made her insides tremble in a way she’d never felt before.

Then the waitress reappeared with the bill and the spell broke just as quickly as it had begun.

“I think I’m going to hurl,” Paul whimpered, putting his head down on the table.

“Um, I think I’m going to check on Becca. She’s been in the bathroom a while,” Prandi muttered, scampering away before Jameson could say anything.