Forbidden Son Read Online Free

will be right with you.”
    Honey
Belle leaned forward. “She knew you. Do you bring all your dates here?”
    Tripp
reached across the table and tweaked her nose. “Only the pretty ones.”
    The
waitress came to the table, introduced herself, and poured water into their
glasses. “Would you care for a cocktail?”
    Honey
Belle glanced over the menu at Tripp questioningly.
    “Go
ahead. You can have anything you want,” he said.
    “I
don’t know.” She lifted a shoulder into a shrug.
    “Do
you want a beer, wine, iced tea?”
    She
met his gaze hesitantly. “Wine, I think?”
    “Wine
it is.” He looked at the waitress who waited patiently. “We’ll have the
Chardonnay. 1950.”
    “Bottle
or glass?” the young woman asked.
    “Just
a glass.” Honey Belle wrinkled her nose. “First date,” she said jokingly. “I
wouldn’t want to get tipsy and make a fool of myself, would I?” She groaned
inside. What a stupid thing to say.
    The
waitress laughed and walked away to fill their drink order.
    Honey
Belle glanced across the table at Tripp gazing at her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t
mean to embarrass you.” For the life of her, she couldn’t read his thoughts.
    “You
didn’t.”
    The
expression on his face told her she hadn’t.
    She
smiled to herself as she concentrated on placing the red linen napkin across
her lap.
    “What
would you like?”
    “Like?”
His question puzzled Honey Belle.
    He
opened the menu and handed it to her. She almost gasped aloud at the prices.
Her eyes scanned down both columns. “Holy poop hill, we could buy a week’s
worth of groceries for the cost of one surf and turf.”
    She
laughed. She wanted to reach up and smack her forehead.
    He
laughed with her, reaching for his water.
    “You
must think I have stupid engraved across my brow.”
    “I
find you refreshing. I like your wisecracks—especially ‘holy poop hill.’” He
smiled in a way that made her feel strange.
    She
had to stop this or he’d guess she didn’t live in the fancy house on Barrington
Street.
    “Thanks.
So what shall we have to eat?” She looked back at the menu.
    “The
scallops in the white wine and garlic is very good.” He frowned. “Garlic? Hmm,
that leaves kissing you goodnight out.”
    “Honestly,
Tripp, I’m so hungry I could eat a—” She’d almost said cow. “Why don’t
you order for me?”
    The
waitress returned with their glasses of wine. While Tripp placed their order,
Honey Belle savored the first sip. Chardonnay, 1950, certainly tasted better
than the cheap wine her mother brought home.
    Fussing
with the edge of the linen napkin in her lap, Honey Belle searched for
something to say. She inwardly cringed when the question popped out. “So,
Tripp, do you work?”
    He
sat the long-stemmed goblet aside. “I work hard at my studies.”
    “College?”
    “Yes.
I’m attending Harvard School of Law in September.”
    Honey
Belle pursed her lips. She caught herself before she whistled to indicate she
was impressed. “Well, if you don’t work at a job, how can you afford such a
fancy car?”
    “My
father is Judge T. Harlan Hartwell. You may have heard of him.”
    Honey
Belle sat a little straighter in her chair. “You mean, as in Judge Hartwell
that’s always in the newspaper?”
    Tripp
offered her a smile. “The very same.”
    Honey
Belle’s insides quivered. Tripp wasn’t merely a rich college guy, he was the
son of a judge—a judge with a reputation for not showing mercy to anyone in his
courtroom. She needed to break off this budding relationship before it got out
of hand.
    “What
about your mother, what does she do?”
    “My
mother loves to garden, research her family history, and—”
    Honey
Belle didn’t miss the fleeting shadow of sadness that caused Tripp to stop
speaking. “What is it about your mother that makes you sad, Tripp?”
    She
liked the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. “My mother was
forty-one years old when I born. She’s like a