“Huh,” I whisper, suddenly feeling like this was all planned.
A dishwasher like this probably gets a blocked filter at least once a year. This isn’t the first time it’s been fixed, based on the length of time she has to have been living in this place—and if I’m going off the decorations, it’s been more than a handful of years. She knew the weather forecast and isn’t at all surprised by the ice storm that’s brewing outside like I am. And then the invitation to stay over came way too easy.
She wants me here for more than her dishwasher.
“How’s it going?” she asks, coming around the corner of the island with napkins and silverware. “Is it bad?” She places the items on the table, carefully arranging them.
“No. It should only take a few minutes.” I scoop more water, dumping it into the bowl she gave me. It’s tedious work, but I’ve had to do things far worse than spend time with a pretty woman.
“Really? Food’s almost ready anyway, so it’s perfect timing.”
A little too perfect, but I’m not going to complain or call her out about anything. Having a great meal and talking with her is no hardship. There isn’t anything, even an impending storm, that could’ve stopped me from coming over here tonight.
Once enough of the water is removed, I make quick work of the filter, cleaning it off completely.Lulu is competent enough to do this herself, and I’d bet my truck she’s done it herself before. She had the meal perfectly timed to the number of minutes it would take me to complete this.
“All done,” I tell her as I twist the filter back in.
“Wow. You’re fast. Must’ve been an easy fix, huh?”
I laugh softly, knowing her game as I slide the rack back into place and close the door. “Yeah. Easy.”
“You want chips with your sandwich? I have salt and vinegar or sour cream.”
“A girl after my own heart.”
“You want both?”
“Vinegar,” I tell her as she stands in front of two unopened bags on the countertop.
“Good choice,” she says as she grabs the blue bag and heads toward the table, while I push myself upward, ignoring the cracking noise coming from my knees. “Let me wash up.”
“I left a towel for you by the sink.”
Of course she did. The woman thinks of everything. “Did you design everything yourself?” I ask as I pump the soap dispenser twice, instantly hit by the scent of vanilla.
“Yeah. My mom helped a bit, but she’s more about light colors and florals.”
“Complete opposites.”
Lulu laughs as she assembles the sandwiches. “She can appreciate my vision, even if it isn’t her own.”
“That’s sweet.” I haven’t met a person in her family who isn’t nice, just like she is. They are so very unlike my people, and it isn’t lost on me how my family is probably more abnormal than hers is.
“My mom is the best.”
“The tile is something.” I stare at the matte black tiles all perfectly arranged on the wall behind the sink and underneath the cabinets. Each one is unique and handmade and had to cost a damn near fortune for a kitchen this size.
“My cousin Tate and I made each one at a local ceramic place that our friend owns. It took us months to make them all.”
“Damn,” I whisper, completely impressed. By the looks of her, I’d have assumed she’d bought them at a fancy tile store. Never in a million years did I think she made each one of them by hand.
“Come. Sit,” she says, holding two plates with some of the largest Italian beef sandwiches I’ve ever seen. “They’re not as good when they’re cold.”
“I’d eat that any way you’d give it to me.”
She sucks in a breath, staring at me like she is about to pounce, which is odd. I was talking about the sandwich, but the look in her eyes makes me think she was hoping I was talking about something else. “I’m sure you would.”
As soon as she sets the plates down on the table, I grab her wrist, stopping her from sitting. She peersover her shoulder at me, our eyes locking. “Sweetheart, tell me something.”
