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his hand.
    “No.”
    He went on as if he hadn’t heard her. “I mean if you wanted to play it like that, I would have dated others, too.”
    This was awful, all sorts of awful. “I never cheated on you.” She threw back her drink and motioned for the server. Something stronger was needed pronto. “I don’t expect you to believe me.”
    “It’s hard to believe you’re suddenly engaged to someone you haven’t even dated.”
    This was basically the case, except she’d secretly dated Trey when she was sixteen. “I’ll never be able to explain adequately.” She could explain, but if Stephen wanted to retaliate or even repeated her story in passing, he could inevitably send her father to jail. And she couldn’t risk it. “I’ll never be able to apologize enough, but I am truly, truly sorry.”
    He opened his mouth to reply when the server brought their food. Sensing the tension, she quietly placed a small platter of antipasto down, followed by chilled shrimp with lemon and horseradish sauce, and then a fig and almond cake accompanied by red table grapes. All her favorites, she realized. Stephen was always considerate of her whenever he had time to spend away from his catering business. And lately, he’d spent fewer times with her due to the demands of a suddenly flourishing business, yet her heart chipped a little more at this final gesture. But there wasn’t any way she could swallow this food — this last meal between them.
    “Prosecco Maschio Veneto,” the server said with a small flourish, presenting the wine for Stephen to taste.
    He sipped and smiled. “Go ahead and pour.” After another tense beat the server quickly left the table. “I really don’t need your explanations, Libby, or even your apologies. I only want your word that I won’t lose the business I’ve gained with The Easton Company.”
    Her throat tightened. “I don’t have anything to do with The Easton Company, apart from my battles keeping the firehouse.”
    He speared a shrimp half-heartedly. “Aw, come on. You did what you had to do.”
    “What I had to do?” She downed her wine, finishing the whole damn glass and he poured her another. This was Payton all over again, the media accusing her of sleeping with Dylan to gain her firehouse. “I didn’t…. You know me better than that, Stephen.”
    “Do I?” He sat down the fork calmly, slowly. “Just give me your word I won’t lose my income due to Trey Easton’s jealousies.”
    Her spine stiffened. “I distinctly recall getting you a lot of your business, Stephen, with my parents’ connections,” she reminded. “In fact, if I’m remembering clearly — and I think I am — you had two catering vans and one small kitchen when we first started dating.” She sifted through their conversations, remembering how he networked at her parents’ various functions. “Presently,” she asked, eyeballing him hard, “how many vans do you have…a fleet? And how many locations do you now own?”
    He waved a negligent hand. “It doesn’t matter.”
    “Apparently, it does,” she snapped, sitting back in her chair. “Or you wouldn’t have brought up this money issue.”
    He gave up all pretense of eating. “This is what matters, Libby. The Easton Company makes up sixty-five percent of my income. If they bail, I have more than one hundred employees who will lose their jobs.”
    When she’d met him, he only had five full-timers and four part-timers. Figuring she knew the answer to this, she asked anyway, “When I helped you serve at this very place,” she inquired, waving an encompassing hand around the harbor, “for the masquerade fundraiser, was that your first job with The Easton Company?”
    He shifted almost nervously. “No.”
    He heart took a nosedive. “Would you mind telling me when The Easton Company offered you your first catering job?”
    He closed his eyes and finished his wine. When he opened them and looked at her, Stephen seemed ashamed. “The first day