Marriage by Mistake

that brief physical contact?
    Kelly gazed into the cool, impenetrable eyes that rose to meet hers. Well, perhaps she was making things up, but there was only one sure way to find out. She needed to get to know him, really know him. This evening offered the best opportunity yet. All she had to do was...be careful. She had to make sure to see only what was really there, and not what she wished would be there.
    Kelly drew a deep breath and smiled. "Coffee," she insisted, and took his arm. "I'm sure we could find some place open."
    ~~~
    Dean was appalled. She'd liked the opera. Liked it? She'd loved it! With her delicate fingers now wrapped around his forearm, she hummed Mi chiamano Mimi while keeping pace with his taken-aback strides.
    She was supposed to have hated it, been bored, showed her true colors. He was supposed to have gotten free of this unhealthy attraction.
    Instead, she was swaying to her memory of the music. Positively glowing with enjoyment, she'd prolonged the evening, insisting on coffee . And he didn't even mind. Mind? He was thrumming with excitement, simply to be near her. Pathetic, that's what he was. Truly pathetic.
    During intermission they'd run into Felicia Thurgood, a distant relative and social acquaintance of Dean's who'd been very properly attending the production with her aunt and uncle. But had Felicia, with her modesty and refinement, done one single thing for Dean's libido?
    Felicia was like an unlit match compared to the bonfire that was Kelly.
    "Here?" Kelly now asked. She scuffed to a stop and turned toward a brightly lit café that filled the limestone corner of a building. "It looks kinda pricey but I have to admit, it's the only place we've seen that's open."
    Dean looked up at the elegant café, a place he came often after the opera. He must have directed their steps this way out of habit. "This is fine." He was determined to escape Kelly's clutches yet. One place was as good for the task as another.
    Inside, they managed to get seated at one of the plush banquettes by a window. Kelly looked around with a smile that suggested she wasn't seeing any of it; the elegant surroundings, the one-of-a-kind dessert creations, or the distinguished-looking crowd. She waggled her shoulders. "Oh, I'm still all shivery from the music. Maybe I should have herb tea instead of coffee, or I'll never get to sleep tonight."
    Dean opened his menu and forced his gaze downward. "Please, order whatever you like." Meanwhile, he reflected that his usual type of companion—a Felicia Thurgood type—would have launched into a detailed critique of the production by now. She would have made astute comparisons between Maria Callas and Joan Sutherland.
    All Kelly could say was that she was shivery.
    Simplistic and uneducated. The very kind of statement that should have helped turn him off. Dean scowled at his menu and wondered why it didn't.
    Maybe because she was just being honest and unpretentious, a voice whispered inside? Giving him her real feelings?
    Genuine?
    Dean slapped his menu closed.
    Cued by the action, a nearby waitress turned her head. "Oh, I'm sorry, sir. Are you ready to order?"
    Dean shook his head. Kelly was no more genuine than—than anybody else. "Oh, I mean yes, we're ready," Dean told the waitress, then shook his head again. "That is, are you ready, Kelly?"
    His wife looked baffled. "Sure, I'm ready." Raising her eyebrows, she put on a smile and turned her gaze toward the waitress, who seemed a severe sort. "I'd like an orange spice tea, please. Oh, and no rush. I can see you're busy. "
    The waitress visibly relaxed, the harsh lines smoothing from her face. "It's a madhouse tonight. Thanks. And what for you, sir?" She turned to Dean.
    He blinked. He couldn't remember when he'd been with a woman who actually noticed, or cared about, the feelings of a waitress. "Ahem. I'd just like coffee. Black, please."
    "Very good." The waitress made no comment on their lack of interest in the fabulous desserts, but collected the menus and hurried off.
    Dean gazed past Kelly to a table with four chattering college students. So, his wife had been considerate. And she seemed genuine. That didn't mean she actually was either one of those things. He was not going to be taken in by the woman. He was not.
    "So," Kelly said, "you haven't said what you thought of it yet."
    "Of it?"
    "The opera." There was a laugh in her voice.
    "Oh, yes, of course." Dean pulled in his lips. Nobody had to indulge him. He was