“Oh my gosh.” She hip-bumps me. “Did you just make a joke? Who are you, and what did you do with grumpy Beau?”
“I’m not grumpy,” I mumble. She grins up at me. “Whatever.”
“You’re about to burn the sandwiches,” she adds.
“Shit.” I quickly turn off the burner and slide the sandwiches onto a plate. By the time I set them on the table, Harmony has bowls full of soup to add.
We each take our place across from each other. Reacher ignores my command to move to his pillow and plops down next to her. She takes a bite and moans. I have to hide a smile knowing she likes something I’ve made.
“Now that’s a good sandwich,” she exclaims. I watch as she chews and swallows. It’s the first time I ever remember thinking eating is sexy, but she makes it look like food porn. “You know, I don’t think there is anything better than a grilled cheese and tomato soup on a wintery day. It just makes you feel warm all over. Those ads weren’t lying.”
I like this meal as well as the next guy, but I’m not sure that I’d call it the best for a wintery day. Mom made a mean beef and vegetable stew that was right up there at the top. But if I had to say what was the best, then it would be none other than?—
“Chili.”
“You’re cold?”
“No,” I sigh. “Chili is best on a winter day.”
“I don’t know. I’ve never had your chili. Can’t make a ruling until then.” I know she’s teasing me with her flippant answer, but she’s just waved the red flag in front of my face.
“We’ll have it tomorrow,” I growl.
“So not kicking me out yet I see,” she says. Her smile is both sly and glorious. Damn, this girl is getting under my skin. I don’t know if I can handle her for long. I guess that all depends on Mother Nature.
“Not yet anyway.”
three
HARMONY
I just wantto point out that for all of Beau’s grumbling, his butt is firmly planted on the couch in front of the television when the next soap opera comes on.
Naturally, he pretends to ignore me when I explain the show’s premise, but his mumbled “ridiculous” doesn’t escape me. When a talk show starts, he firmly turns the TV off plunging us into silence again.
“I have a question,” I say when he stands to poke at the fire.
“Not surprised,” he mumbles under his breath.
“I heard that.” I give him my best scowl. “Any who, when do you decorate for Christmas?” There is absolutely nothing indicating that my favorite holiday is quickly approaching. No lights, no tree, no stockings over the mantle, not even the promise of cookies to be decorated. “Are you one of those psychos who wait until Christmas Eve to put everything up?”
“Are you one of those psychos who leave decorations up year round?”
“No, not yet. I have a strict rule that everything goes up the day after Thanksgiving and comes down the day after the NewYear,” I inform him. “I’m not that crazy. Yet.” I grin at him, but he stares back like he’s harboring a serial killer. Finally, he turns and tosses another log on the fire.
“I don’t decorate,” he says with his back to me.
“I’m sorry, what?” Now who’s the serial killer? “Excuse me, I thought I heard you mumble something about not decorating. I must need my hearing checked.” I tug on my ear for emphasis.
He watches me as I stand and take an elaborate turn around the room. “Hmmm…it’s too late for a menorah. Are you a Kwanza person?” I have several friends back in Nashville who celebrate Hanukkah and Kwanza. I’ve participated in both.
“No.” The corner of his mouth lifts slightly. His eyes still track me as I return to the couch.
Why do I like that so much? Usually, a guy watching me that intently just gives me the creeps, and being somewhat famous means that happens a lot. But I find I don’t mind it so much when it’s Beau.
“I used to, when Travis was home. No reason to for just me.”
“I assumed Travis came home every year for Christmas.”
