All the Way by Kristi Avalon Page B

open, he’d do it. For both their sakes. Before he did something totally reckless.
    Like falling for her all over again.

 
     
     
     
     

Chapter 6
     
     
    They were on the highway at dusk when Blake admitted he had to quit putting off the inevitable. He steered onto an exit ramp.
    He’d been dreading this since they’d gone from smooth sailing into treacherous waters at the rest stop. But they had to stop for dinner. Even if it would be torture sitting across from her at a restaurant. A reminder of their dates when they were together. She’d been up for anything, and he’d had a great time introducing her to different cultural cuisines, with so many unique restaurants within the ethnically diverse region of Cleveland Heights.
    Welcome to flashback hell .
    He parked the bike, this time helping her off to make sure she could walk right after another three-hour stint on the motorcycle. The silence between them was thick with unsaid thoughts.
    They’d never had that problem when they’d dated, he recalled, holding the door open for her as they entered the chain restaurant. He never got tired of hearing about her life, learning how her mind worked, appreciating the depth of her thoughts. So many of the women he’d dated seemed shallow in comparison to Layla. She’d been through so much hardship and loss in her life. Yet her attitude was that she had come out stronger and wiser for it all. He admired that.
    They followed a hostess to their table. Sliding onto the green pleather seat of a booth, he noticed the collection of odd junk slapped on the walls, a fishing net and snow shoes next to a picture of Dean Martin. The waitress came and took their drink orders, after which he noticed something else. Layla hadn’t looked up once. She just stared at the menu in front of her.
    Peering at her, Blake began to realize that something had been off since they’d split at that rest stop—other than their typical communication deficit.
    Layla hadn’t said a word. She always had something to say. Especially to him. But not one smart-mouth comment had escaped her lips. As his gaze raked her face, he noticed something had changed.
    Her skin seemed bright, dewy. A soft blush blossomed on her cheeks. Her hairline appeared damp, her ponytail askew. A few loose strands framed her exotically beautiful face. She looked exactly how Blake had fantasized she would after he was done making love to her. The unbidden thought made him shift on the cushion too limp to support a guy his size. About the only limp thing in the booth.
    Conversation. That always cooled his jets. “What’s with you?” he asked.
    “Wh-what?” she stammered. Her glance flicked to him, but the contact was brief. Her blush deepened. “Nothing. Why?”
    “For starters.” Blake flipped her menu from the brown cover to the first page. “Funniest thing, they read better when they’re open.”
    “Thanks, wise guy.”
    “Hey, I do what I can.”
    “More than you know,” she murmured like he wasn’t supposed to hear.
    He’d heard.
    She cleared her throat. “You said the fried chicken sounded good? I’ll try that.”
    He hadn’t said a thing. “Layla, are you okay? Has the trip been that hard on you?”
    “You can’t imagine,” she whispered and bit her lip sexily.
    His temperature soared. “Will you quit mumbling?”
    “If you quit yelling at me.”
    “I’m not yelling. It just seems like you’re having a conversation with yourself. Care to let me in on it?”
    She slapped her menu shut. “I can’t talk about it. Telling you would only complicate things.”
    After a double-take, he demanded, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “You’re yelling again.”
    His nostrils flared. “Sue me.”
    Layla crossed her arms and sat back in the booth. Blake regarded her intensely until recognition emerged. There were a few times in the past when Blake had put that look on Layla’s face. Maybe while he’d been immersed in the past, she’d been