From the Heart

choose it for its”—she paused and smiled—“colorful past?”
    Thorpe grinned. “No. It suited my needs at the moment. I was in Israel when that went down. I’ve always regretted not being here to report the story.” He offered her oil and vinegar. “I know an assignment editor who tossed the story out when he got the feed. No time, and he thought no one would care about some minor break-in. I think he’s selling used cars now in Idaho.”
    Liv laughed. “How long were you in the Mideast?”
    “Too long.” He caught Liv’s questioning glance. “Hours of tedium and moments of terror. Not a healthy way to live. War opens your eyes, maybe too much, to what a human being’s capable of.”
    “It must be very difficult,” she murmured, trying to picture it. “Reporting a war, that kind of a war, in a foreign country.”
    “It was an experience,” he said with a move of his shoulders. “The trouble is, when you’re reporting, you tend to forget you’re human too. For a while, up here”—he tapped his temple—“you’re indestructible. The camera’s a force field. It’s a dangerous delusion—one that bullets and grenades don’t respect.”
    She understood what he meant. She herself had once walked carelessly into a government building following a bomb detection team. Her mind had been on the story. It hadn’t been until later that the full impact of her action had struck her.
    “It’s strange, isn’t it?” she mused. “And it’s not just reporters. Cameramen are probably worse. Why do you suppose that is?”
    “Some like to claim it’s a mission, a sacred duty to let the public know. I’ve always considered it simply a matter of being caught up in the moment. You do it because you’re focused in on the story, and the story’s your job.”
    “Tunnel vision,” she said quietly, remembering he had used the phrase before. “That’s not as romantic as a mission.”
    He smiled, watching the candlelight flicker over her skin. “Do you look for romance in your work, Liv?”
    The question startled her, bringing her back. “No. No, I don’t.” Now was the time, she told herself. “Which is exactly why I agreed to have dinner with you tonight.”
    “To keep your romance separate from your work?”
    Her brows drew together. Why did that sound so different when he said it? “Yes . . . No,” she amended.
    “I’ll get the spaghetti while you make up your mind.”
    Liv cursed herself and tore a piece of garlic bread in two. Why was it things never went as she planned when she was around him? And why did he always seem so on top of things? Straightening, she reached for her wine. She would simply start over.
    “Here we go.”
    Thorpe placed a platter of thin pasta topped with the thick sauce on the table.
    “Thorpe,” Liv began. The aroma was irresistible, and she filled her plate as she spoke. “I really thought you understood what I said to you the other day.”
    “I understood perfectly, Olivia; you’re very articulate.” He helped himself when she had finished.
    “Then you must see how difficult you’re making things.”
    “By sending you a flower,” he concluded, and offered her grated cheese.
    “Well, yes.” It sounded so silly when he said it. “It’s very sweet, but . . .” Frowning, she rolled spaghetti onto her fork. “I don’t want you or anyone else to think that it means anything.”
    “Of course not.” He watched her sample the first bite. “How is it?”
    “Fabulous. Absolutely fabulous.” Liv let the pure sensual pleasure of food spread through her slowly. “I’ve never tasted anything better.” She rolled a second forkful and tried to remember what point she had been trying to make. “In any case, it’s not the sort of thing associates do, you know.” The second forkful proved as satisfying as the first.
    “What isn’t?” It gave him a great deal of satisfaction towatch her preoccupation with his cooking. Her tongue slid lightly over the fork.
    “Send flowers,” she stated. “To each other. Especially when there’s rivalry as well. Local and national news are siblings. I know a bit about sibling rivalry.”
    “Your sister,” he commented. The candlelight shot little flecks of gold into her eyes. He could almost count them.
    “Mmm. With a sister like Melinda, I’ve had experience at being the underdog. I never minded; it makes you more inventive. The same goes for doing the local news.”
    “Is that how you look at it?”