“Never heard of them.”
“They’re chocolate cookies.”
Since her weaknesses had been on such ample display, it comforted her a little to know that his willpower wasn’t infallible. “Can I help?” she asked.
“In a sec.”
She washed her hands at the sink. It turned out that her help amounted to whisking the dry ingredients and then placing muffin cups in the muffin pan, which was probably what her level of baking expertise deserved.
He added strange, super healthy ingredients to the mix. Almond flour. Cashew butter.
Little wonder he had such a fantastic body.
“No sugar?” she asked.
“The natural sugar in the bananas is enough.”
Enough for you,maybe, she wanted to say, but didn’t. That would have sounded ungrateful when she wasn’t. On the contrary. A melting thankfulness was overtaking her by degrees. So much so, she felt a little on the wobbly and tearful side. He’d invited her in. His company was comforting, and he was making muffins in a kitchen bathed with bright, cheery light.
It would have taken Genevieve ages to make muffins. Within a matter of just a few minutes, Sam was sliding the muffin tray into the oven.
She hurried to the sink before he could beat her to the post and began rinsing the mixing bowl and utensils he’d used to make the batter.
He opened the dishwasher and propped one narrow hip against the counter. She handed him items. He inserted them in the machine.
“Every time I see you,” he said, “you look like you’re feeling better.”
It wasn’t exactly an effusive compliment. In fact, it would’ve been hardnotto look better than she had after withdrawal, when she’d resembled a cadaver. Yet, his statement delighted her. “Thanks. I’m feeling a little bit”—a very little bit—“better all the time.”
“Yeah?” he said, utterly serious. With that one word, he asked a whole essay full of things.
Genevieve didn’t know whether Sam liked her true self. At least, though, she felt free tobeher true self with him. He didn’t need anything from her, except for her to abide by the rental agreement they’d struck. He had no ulterior motives. Her career, what she could do for him—none of that mattered here.
“I’m still adjusting to living alone in the country,” she confessed. “The isolation’s tricky. I ... miss the benefits of Oxy. Every physical pain hurts worse than before and my job feels more stressful.”
Grave lines etched into his face. “If you’re tempted to take Oxy, you can call me.”
“I can?”
“Yep.”
“And you’ll pick up?” she teased.
“For sure.”
“The truth is that I didn’t come here tonight to do laundry.” She handed him the final spoon. He inserted it and closed the dishwasher door. “At least,” she continued, “laundry wasn’t my first priority. I came because I was hoping for someone to talk to. The solitude wasn’t exactly helping matters tonight.”
“In that case, I’m glad I was here.”
“Me too.” The moment stretched. She really shouldn’t and couldn’t fall for anyone until she had herself back in order. And yet ... she didn’t know if it could be helped. She could feel herself falling for Sam slowly and unavoidably. And, disastrously, it feltgood. In fact, the delicious chemistry tugging her to him was one of the few bright spots in her life at the moment.
“Any news on your search into your parents’ past?” he asked.
“Quite a bit, actually.”
“What have you found out?”
“That they’ve been keeping something that happened before their marriage a secret from my sister and me.”
