“Sure thing. I have to warn you, though, we’re roughing it a bit; this kitchen only has the basics.”
She glanced around the kitchen area, noting that he’d already set out a large pot and a skillet, some basic cooking utensils, and a cutting board and bowl for the salad. Once again, she admired the flowers he’d placed in the middle of the table as a centerpiece. He’d also improvised for the lack of a vase, placing the bouquet in a tall drinking glass full of water.
“I can see that. The flowers are beautiful, by the way. How’d you know wildflowers are my favorite?”
“They’re my favorite, too. And they remind me of you. A little wild, and beautiful in their simplicity. Natural beauty. When I look at you, that’s what I see.”
She didn’t know what to say in response to that, and even if she had the words, she doubted she could speak past the lump in her throat. So she raised up on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. This guy was simply amazing, and she was falling in love with him a little more every day. When that thought popped into her head, she looked away, as if to hide it from him. It was much too soon for that type of talk, even though she remembered vividly her feelings when they’d danced to the same words sung by Elvis at The Jailhouse. Time to focus her attention on something else.
“Speaking of roughing it, I came with the essentials.” She reached into the bag she’d brought, pulling out the wine, two glasses, and a corkscrew.
“You think of everything.” He popped the cork and poured, handing her one of the glasses so they could enjoy the wine while they worked together to prepare the meal.
In short order, the food was ready and the table set. She placed generous portions of spaghetti noodles and sauce on two plates, while TJ carried the salad bowl and an Italian loaf over to the table.
The small butcher block table was only big enough to seat two people, so the atmosphere was much more intimate than when they’d dined at her house on TJ’s first day of work. Recalling the fun she’d had at his expense at that dinner, she secretly longed for his touch under this table. She shivered at the thought, her nerve endings on full alert.
He must have noticed the slight tremble, as he remarked, “Are you cold? I can give you one of my jackets.”
She wasn’t about to explain what that body movement was about. “No, I’m fine, really. Must be the wine.”
TJ divided the salad into two bowls and pulled apart the Italian loaf, handing her half.
Before she started eating, she watched as he dug into his spaghetti, winding a generous portion around his fork and dipping it into some sauce. She waited as he took his first bite, gauging his reaction. “How is it?”
He closed his eyes and moaned in response. “Good. It’s been a while since I’ve had some home-cooked spaghetti.”
She blushed in response. “The sauce was from a jar. That’s not exactly home-cooked.”
“To me it is. And since you prepared everything here in the cabin, I call that home-cooked.”
They lingered over their food, keeping the conversation light, then cleared the table and washed their dishes, while polishing off the last of the wine. Since the tiny cabin didn’t hold much furniture, the most comfortable place to relax was on the bed. She sighed in contentment, cuddling up to him as they watched a drama on TV.
He sifted his fingers through her auburn locks, gently pulling on the ends. The action was relaxing, yet stimulating at the same time. She couldn’t find the words to describe the feeling. It was subtly sensual, and was setting her on a slow-burning path of desire.
He broke the silence. “Can you stay here tonight?”
She let out a soft groan. She wanted to stay with him so badly. “I really wish I could. But I need to get back to the house before Dad and Angela come home. Of course they have no idea I’m over here.” As she spoke, she opened her eyes and glanced out the window. In the distance, she could see lights on in the farmhouse. Lights she hadn’t turned on before she left.
“Damn, they’re home already. I gotta get back over there now.”
She jumped up from the bed and hurriedly put her boots back on. Planting a hasty kiss on his cheek, she took off running across the field toward the house, intent on sneaking in. The mellow state she’d been in just a few moments before was now replaced with a sense of urgency.
When she spotted Sean exiting the house out the back door, she ducked behind a tree and waited, her chest heaving. Why was he coming outside? Did he suspect she was with TJ? Fortunately, he wasn’t heading in her direction; he turned toward the barn. Maybe he was just checking on the horses. As soon as he rounded the corner, she continued on toward the house, slipping in through the same back door. Her heart felt like it was going to jump out of her chest. She wasn’t ready for a confrontation with him over TJ, so she needed to get to her room without being seen. Despite the sound of her blood loudly rushing through her ears, she crept down the hall as quietly as possible and quickly changed into the sweats she usually slept in. In an attempt to make it look as if she’d been there all along, she sat at her vanity table and proceeded to brush her hair.
A few moments later, Angela tapped on her door, then opened it enough to stick her head in. Morgan didn’t turn around to acknowledge her, she simply met her eyes in the mirror.
“Night, Morgan.” Angela shot her a knowing grin, then softly closed the door.
Although she was already gone, Morgan could feel the heat of her blush as she mumbled a response. “Night, Angela.”
Shortly thereafter, she heard Sean return to the house and the hum of a conversation between him and Angela, although she couldn’t ascertain what they were saying. She made a mental note to thank Angela later for running interference.
12
TJ
TJ woke up in a fantastic mood. He’d had a great dinner with Morgan the night before, and now the weekend was right in front of him. Two whole days off. He knew he couldn’t just mosey on up to the house to see her, so he figured he’d do the next best thing. Visit her at work. After all, she had promised him a haircut when they’d first met, and he definitely needed one. His hair was looking shaggier than a sheep that needed shearing. He was accustomed to going to a barber, not a ladies’ salon, but once he’d learned Morgan was a hairdresser, he’d been fantasizing nightly about the feeling of her running her fingers through his hair, washing and cutting it, all while wearing nothing but a smock and a smile.
