“I’m fired, aren’t I? For setting off the alarm, locking us in the safe room, and just being the biggest doofus in Snowflake Falls. I appreciate the wine, but you don’t have to soften me up. I’m tough.”
Weston tilts his head to one side. “I’m not firing you. I’m cooking you lunch.”
“You are? Are you feeling okay?”
“You work so hard, I thought you might enjoy an afternoon off. Cooking is how I relax. Do you like pasta?”
“Is the Pope Italian?” I shrug.
He grins and my stomach flips. “We’re having spaghetti carbonara with some garlic focaccia and green salad. Tiramisu after.”
A tiny, scruffy-looking, one-eyed cat eases through the open window and meows. Weston puts cat food in a dish and sets it on the floor.
“Is he yours?” I ask.
“He is now. He arrived on Monday, tapping on my window. I think he must be a stray. I’ll take him to the vet tomorrow to see if he’s lost.”
“There’s a shelter up in Bakersfield. But I have to say he looks pretty happy to be here. Does he have a name?”
Weston smiles and my heart melts a little. “Patch. Not very original but I needed a name suitable for a tiny pirate. Now, tell me more about your business.”
I talk him through how Grandma taught me to find herbs when I was a kid, the college course I did, and then how I got the idea for the business. He listens attentively while he fixes me a big dish of pasta, grating parmesan liberally on top, and topping up my glass with wine. I’m so hungry that I can’t help making appreciative sounds while I eat.
“This tiramisu is out of this world. Thank you, Weston.”
“You’re very welcome. Come next door and put your feet up.”
I laugh. “Last time I was on a sofa with you we got ourselves in a tricky situation.”
He smiles and takes my hand. “I’m up for a situation with you. What do they call it? A situationship?”
“I’m not even sure what that means. But if it involves another meal like that, then I’m all in.” I squeeze his big hand as we gonext door. The food and wine are making me reckless. I’m used to looking after other people’s messes. To be the one who’s taken care of for a change is impossibly seductive.
When we’re sitting on the plush velvet sofa, he looks over. “Can I take your shoes off?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I should have taken them off when I came in. I was distracted. Or is this some kind of weird foot appreciation thing?”
Weston grins. “Anyone who works as hard as you deserves a foot rub.” He unlaces my sneakers and peels off my socks.
“Can you not look too closely at my feet? They’re neglected and overworked. And…not very dainty.”
“You have dancer’s feet. And you work too hard.” He gently squeezes my instep and I moan.
“Wow. That feels…incredible. I don’t have a choice, I have to work hard. Paying back my college tuition is the goal. For the next five years, anyway.”
“Can I give you a raise?” He expertly massages around my heel.
“No way. It’s not that kind of situationship, but I appreciate your offer. Do you do this with all your cleaning ladies?” I lean my head back against the plush cushions and close my eyes.
“Only you.” His voice is low.
The rhythmic rubbing and the two glasses of wine I had with lunch makes me doze off. When I wake up, it’s starting to get dark outside and I’m covered in a blanket, with a pillow behind my head.
I sit upright as Weston enters, holding a glass of water.
“The cleaning! How long have I slept?”
“A couple of hours. And the house is still spotless from when you cleaned it before. I’ve done the dishes. You deserve a break, Savannah.” He walks over and hands me the water, then sits next to me and brushes a curl away from my face.
