Strangers When We Meet Read Online Free Page A

and my rudeness. I’ll leave now so you can—”
    “No...please,” Emma interrupted. “That’s not necessary. You don’t have to go. I’m the one who invaded your space, you know—”
    “I don’t have much of an appetite anyway. Good morning.” Before Emma could respond in kind, he left the dining room abruptly and mounted the stairs.
    Just then Maureen appeared with a tray on which sat a steaming plate of griddle cakes, a pitcher of maple syrup, a carafe of coffee and a glass of orange juice. Emma’s stomach growled so loudly she was certain the whole room could hear.
    “Mr. Weston left you?” Maureen asked, setting the food in front of Emma.
    She nodded, concentrating on pouring the thick syrup over the pancakes just so.
    “He said he wasn’t hungry.”
    “Perhaps he’ll be...feeling better by teatime.”
    “Probably,” Emma answered in what she hoped was a neutral tone. With a hangover like his, it might take longer than a few hours to regain his appetite. She would have liked to ask her hostess more about Blake Weston but she didn’t want to put Maureen on the spot. And what would she ask, anyway? Had he made reservations for two and then shown up alone—like she had?
    “What are your plans for the day?” Maureen asked, changing the subject with all the aplomb of Emma’s diplomat father.
    “I think I’ll walk into the village and visit my grandparents.”
    “It’s a beautiful day for a walk, although I’m afraid the long-range weather forecasts are calling for rain and even the possibility of snow later in the week.”
    “Then I’d better enjoy it while I can.” Emma took a bite of griddle cake swimming in syrup and closed her eyes in ecstasy. “My compliments to the chef,” she said. “I’ve been thinking of nothing but this moment for weeks. It’s my main reason for coming back to Cooper’s Corner over and over.”
    Maureen laughed. “Don’t let Daryl hear you say that. You’ll break his heart.”
    If Emma’s mouth hadn’t been full of another bite of griddle cake, she might have let slip the fact that the shoe was on the other foot. It was Daryl who had broken her heart, not the other way around.
    * * *
    H AD HE REALLY made as big a jackass of himself as he feared back there in the dining room? Blake leaned his weight on his hands and felt the rough stone of the bridge parapet bite into his palms. He stared into the dark water of the stream that edged the Cooper property, replaying his conversation with Emma—whatever her name was—an hour ago. He groaned. The memory was clearer than it had any right to be. He’d been rude and maudlin, and to top it all off, he’d admitted he had the hangover from hell because he’d drunk too much champagne.
    That made him a jerk, a loser and a wuss all rolled into one. He could have at least told her he’d gotten drunk on beer. Or Scotch. What normal red-blooded American male drowned his sorrows in champagne?
    F. Blake Weston, Esq., Wall Street shark on his way to the top of the food chain, brought low by a woman and a six-hundred-dollar bottle of wine. He groaned and shut his eyes against the sparkles of sunlight that glinted off the water and sent tiny arrows of pain shooting through his brain.
    He’d have to apologize to the cinnamon-haired woman at the B and B. That is, if she didn’t turn on her heel and walk out of the room the next time she saw him. He’d showered and shaved and taken a handful of aspirin, but it hadn’t done much to improve his appearance, if his wavering reflection in the pool below the bridge was anything to go by.
    “Good morning, Mr. Weston. I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”
    “Oh, hell,” he muttered under his breath, turning slightly toward the silky voice that was every bit as intriguing now as it had been an hour ago. He grunted a reply and went back to staring at the water, trying to get his thoughts in order. The sooner the better didn’t necessarily mean right then and