He placed two steaks into the cast iron skillet. They sizzled loudly. “What topic are you writing about in your current study?”
“Living a life transformed by grace.”
“How’s it coming?”
“Slowly and painfully. I’m behind schedule, and I’m uncertain about the quality of what I’ve written so far.”
He drained the boiling pot into a colander, revealing handfuls of glossy fingerling potatoes. After moving them into a serving bowl, he dropped a few pats of butter over them.
“You eat so healthy that I would have expected butter to be your enemy.”
“Empty carbs are my enemy. Not fats.” He added fresh dill and seasonings to the potatoes. “When your sister dropped off these steaks earlier, she told me that you haven’t been following your daily schedule.”
Natashahad finagled this dinner by bringing him steaks?
Of course she had. Natasha could be crafty. Genevieve had confided in her about her fight with Sam, and this was her sister’s way of helping repair things between them. “That’s true. I’ve gotten off track with my schedule the past few days.”
“How come?”
“After botching things up with you, I was feeling blue.” He was an unlikely confidant. Yet, as usual, she found it liberating to tell him things. “Plus, I’m tired and overwhelmed in general. I haven’t had the energy for the schedule this week.”
“That worries me because the schedule’s been working for you.”
“I know. It’s helped.”
“So? Are you going to return to it?”
“Someday soon.”
“How about tomorrow?” he asked, insisting on pinning her down. Then he smiled a persuasive smile. Olive skin, green eyes, dimples, slightly imperfect white teeth.
Absorbing the sight was like trying to catch a fifty-pound ball of starlight. She’d have agreed to anything he asked in that moment. “Um, I’ll return to the schedule tomorrow.”
“Beaut.” He moved aside to make room for her in front of the cast iron skillet, where he’d finished searing the steaks. “Is there anything else I can do to support your recovery, Gen? Because if there is, let me know.”
“Cooking me dinner seems like enough at the moment.”
He tilted the skillet and used a spoon to scoop up the butter floating in the corner along with fresh herbs. Then he ladled butter on top of the steaks over and over. “Just do like this.”
“Got it.” She did her best to imitate the action he’d demonstrated.
He sautéed asparagus. They were standing very close now, the outside of their arms brushing as they worked.
“Have you considered stepping away from the study you’re working on?” he asked. “Would that help you feel less overwhelmed?”
“It would. But I can’t step away.”
“Why not?”
He clearly didn’t understand the magnitude of her job. “I’ve signed a contract that requires me to submit the study to my publisher by its deadline. In all the years, I’ve never been late for a deadline, and I’ve never canceled a speaking engagement.”
“Right, but this time’s different. This time your health’s at stake. You get well, you’ll be able to write more studies in the future.” He made a spooning motion. “Baste,” he reminded her.
She resumed basting. Since the day when she’d crashed her car into a parking planter, she’d doubted whether she was qualified to continue serving as a Christian leader. But whenever she considered taking a break, she immediately thought of all the employees of her publisher, all the readers, all the conference directors who were counting on her. “I’ve been managing my deadline and my health so far. I can continue.” And she could. Though the idea of facing weeks jammed full of work responsibilities made her feel as if someone was squeezing her throat. “I live off the income from my writing and speaking.”
“I’m guessing you can afford to take a break. The lady at the bookstore told me that the DVD set forBearer of a Woman’s Soulcost one hundred and twenty dollars.”
She dropped the spoon and set her hands on her hips. “The DVD sets are for groups! Also, I don’t price the books and DVDs. My publisher does.”
