Perfect for You

greet the waiter.
    She blinked in disbelief, her smile dissolving, because the last person on earth she expected to see was Greg Cavanaugh.
    "Hello, Freya."
    He said her name in that oozy voice on purpose—she just knew it. "Did you follow me here?"
    "Would I do something like that?"
    "Is that a trick question?"
    Cavanaugh pulled out the chair across from her and sat down. He slipped out of his coat and hung it on the back of his chair.
    "Make yourself at home," she said, watching him loosen his tie and unbutton the top of his shirt. The blue of his dress shirt matched his eyes and showed off his sculpted chest when his arms stretched.
    He just smiled and said, "Thanks. I hoped you wouldn't mind if I joined you. There's a wait, and I told Rose I could sit with you so I wouldn't take up a whole table by myself."
    "Very thoughtful of you." Sarcasm seemed the best way to go—definitely better than acknowledging the trill of excitement that flared in her chest at seeing him. "I don't suppose you've ordered?"
    He smiled. "As a matter of fact, I have."
    As if on cue, the waitress brought him a glass of tej, batting her eyes at him. To his credit, he politely thanked her but didn't flirt back. She also set down a couple hot, damp towels, opening Cavanaugh's and offering it to him like she was offering him her body.
    Freya gritted her teeth and reached for her own towel. She would not make a comment.
    Cavanaugh craned his neck to look at her papers. "What do you have here?"
    "It's a list of cooking classes," she admitted reluctantly.
    "You cook? Or are you hoping to learn how?"
    "I'm an excellent cook. I just thought I'd broaden my scope."
    "You should take the Thai cooking course." He flipped through the list. "I love Thai food."
    "I'll take whatever class pleases me." No need to tell him she was leaning towards the Thai class too.
    "Maybe sometime you'll cook for me."
    "Sure." She nodded. "When hell freezes over and Satan holds an ice skating party."
    He grinned. "Heard he throws a helluva party."
    She bit her lip to keep from laughing, waiting to speak until she felt under control again. "I'm sure some woman out there is dying to have the pleasure of your company. Don't you want to go find her?"
    "You have a fixation on my private life." He leaned back and crossed his arms.
    "It's not a fixation. I just can't help wondering why you're here with me when you obviously have a girlfriend. Commitment issues? Or is there some deeper problem."
    His eyes roamed her face. "You're really beautiful, you know. Even when you're being bitchy."
    "I'm not bitchy."
    He calmly sipped his wine.
    "Okay, maybe I'm being a little bitchy."
    "I just thought it'd be nice to have dinner with someone for a change," he said. "If you're really miserable, I can leave."
    A quick protest leapt to her lips, surprising her. What did it mean that she didn't want him to go? Absolutely nothing.
    But he sounded genuinely lonely, and that shocked her as much as her reluctance to see him go. "You eat alone a lot?"
    He nodded. "Long hours. I often work through dinner."
    Her back stiffened as she remembered what sort of work he did. But she was determined to not to be bitchy, because no one deserved that, so she tried to keep her voice her mild. "Do you enjoy your work?"
    "Yes. I love it."
    The way he lit up confused her. How could anyone be so happy about breaking families up? "Did you always want to be a lawyer, or did you fall into it?"
    "I always knew. My father is a lawyer, and I was around it all my life. Instead of fairy tales I grew up reading books on tort. I did go through a phase when I was three where apparently I wanted to be a fireman." He nodded at her. "Didn't you always want to design?"
    "Ah, no." She shook her head. "When I was a little girl I wanted to be a pirate. Then I heard about the concept of Ôwalking the plank' and decided that being a witch would be a better choice. Only I didn't have any natural talent for that, and I couldn't develop any skill."
    "Wait a minute," he interrupted. "How did you realize you couldn't develop any skill? I mean, how does one practice to become a witch?"
    She shrugged. "I went to the library and borrowed books on witchcraft. I couldn't seem to be able to memorize any of the herbs, let alone pronounce them, and some of the ingredients were kind of hard to come by. I mean, where in the Bay Area can you buy eye of newt?" She held up a hand. "No pithy comments please. I was only eight."
    "Far be it from me to