Strangers When We Meet Read Online Free

you.”
    “You’re sure he won’t mind?”
    “Rules of the house.” Maureen smiled. “Open seating at breakfast. Good morning, Mr. Weston.”
    The man she addressed hadn’t noticed their approach as he sat staring at his coffee cup. He looked up, blinked as though bringing them into focus, then rose to his feet, a little unsteadily, Emma noted. He was an inch or two over six feet, just enough taller than her own five feet ten that she didn’t feel as though she had to slouch, a habit left over from her high school and college days that had proved hard to break.
    “Emma, this is Blake Weston. I hope you don’t mind Emma joining you for breakfast, Mr. Weston. She’s had a long drive out from the city and she’s famished.”
    He opened his mouth to protest, Emma was certain, but remembered his manners. Or, at least, the rules of the house. “No, of course not,” he said. “Please, join me.”
    “Thank you.” Emma slid onto her chair so he could resume his seat.
    “Are you having the buffet, Emma, or would you just like Clint’s griddle cakes?” Maureen asked with a smile that told Emma she already knew the answer.
    “What do you think?” Emma grinned at her.
    “One order of walnut griddle cakes coming up.”
    Maureen nodded at Blake Weston and turned away. Emma folded her hands in her lap and found herself staring at the top of the man’s head as he went back to contemplating the coffee in his cup. He had a thick head of dark brown hair cut a little shorter than was fashionable at the moment, and nice ears that lay flat against his head. He hadn’t shaved yet, and a shadow of dark beard roughened the uncompromising line of his jaw.
    “Thank you for letting me share your table,” Emma said, as mindful of her manners as he was.
    “What?” He looked up at her words. His eyes were gorgeous—hazel, her grandmother would call them—a mix of green and gold and brown...and red. Gorgeous bloodshot eyes. And his hands trembled slightly when he lifted the coffee mug to his mouth.
    Good Lord, he’s hung over.
    After one more frowning look at his coffee cup, he met her gaze with a rueful, almost embarrassed expression. “I’m afraid I’m not good company this morning. I...I had a rough night.”
    “You don’t owe me any explanation,” Emma said hurriedly, mortified she’d been so transparent as to let her thoughts show on her face. One of the drawbacks of working alone in a sound studio, isolated from audience and co-workers, was that she sometimes forgot herself in public.
    “I have no head for champagne,” he said, closing his eyes as though to shut out the brilliant morning light pouring in through the window.
    “Excuse me?” Emma glanced over his shoulder, hoping to see Maureen.
    “I drank an entire magnum of Dom Perignon last night. I hate champagne, and it doesn’t much like me. But what else do you use to toast an engagement?” He took a swallow of coffee and grimaced. “I feel like hell.”
    He certainly didn’t look like a man who had just popped the question to the girl of his dreams and been accepted. Especially since there was no girl of his dreams in sight. “If you drank all that, I don’t doubt you’re miserable. But if it was for your engagement, let me offer my congrat—”
    “I couldn’t let it go to waste, now could I?” he said flatly, cutting her off in mid-sentence. “Even if it turned out to be a celebration for one.”
    Emma’s advice-giver instincts were on full alert. She forced herself not to succumb to the urge to elicit his story. An unhappy man, sitting alone... It had all the earmarks of a love affair gone bad. She ought to know. Except for the hangover, she was in the same situation. “I...maybe I should go.”
    “No. Look. I’m the one who should go. I’m making an a—an idiot of myself, and all you’re wanting is your breakfast. I’m sorry, Miss—” He stood up.
    “Emma,” she said. “Emma is fine.”
    “Emma. Please forgive my bad manners