“Sure, of course. Come on in.” She stepped back as he walked over the threshold, attempting to hide any outward reaction when his biceps brushed across her breasts. “You need me back there?”
“Nah, I got it. Don’t wanna keep you from whatever you were doin’.” He strode down the hallway—the same one he’d carried her down a dozen times before—and didn’t look back.
Well, she certainly wasn’t going to sit around waiting for him as if she didn’t have anything else to do. Never mind that she didn’t. She’d planned to veg out on the couch all night and watch more of that hideous horror show he’d unknowingly gotten her hooked on. She was addicted now—though she could only watch one episode at a time, followed immediately by something light and cheery—but she couldn’t tell him that. Not after all the smack she’d talked about it.
To keep herself busy, she grabbed her mail and sorted through the bills, paid the ones that were due—while cringing at her ever-decreasing checking account balance—and planned a menu for the nights the girls would be home. She really should do it for when she was by herself too, because popcorn and a bottle of wine probably wasn’ttechnicallyconsidered a nutritious meal.
Fifteen minutes later, Nash strolled out of her bedroom, past the dining table where she sat, and…straight out the front door. Her shoulders slumped, and knots tightened in her stomach. She knew she had no right to expect anything from him—certainly not a kiss or anything so couple-y—but didn’t she at least warrant a goodbye? Leaving without one was just plain rude.
Though maybe that was what she should expect. There was enough of an age gap between them that she still floundered to find common ground at times. Maybe walking straight out of someone’s home without so much as a wave was perfectly acceptable with his friends? Since he’d beeninsideher mere days before, she figured she deserved at least a bit of preferential treatment, but—
Nash slipped in the front door sans tool belt, a grocery bag in one hand and a wine bottle—her favorite—in the other, with a six-pack tucked under his arm. He glanced up at her as he strolled straight into the kitchen, his eyebrow raised, no doubt at her dropped mouth. “You didn’t think I was leavin’, did you?”
“Course not.” The words burst out of her, too forceful and too fast, but he didn’t press her on it. Didn’t even give her a cocky grin in response.
He hummed and started unloading the bag he’d brought in—bread, deli ham, cheese, and a tomato all spread out on her counter.
“What’re you doin’?” she asked.
“Since I plan on keepin’ you busy most of the night—” he glanced up and winked, heaven help her “—I figured I’d be a gentleman and feed you first.”
Her stomach did a somersault, images of exactly what he’d keep her busy with flitting through her mind. “You’re…cookin’? For me?”
“Well, I was hopin’ maybe you’d let me have a bite or two, but yeah. That okay?” He lifted his eyes to hers, eyebrows raised in question.
“Sure. Yeah, of course.” Okay? It was fan-freakin-tastic and just another first to have under her belt. She’d never had a man evenhelpher cook, let alone do it for her.
She could sit there and watch him all day—how he moved with such confidence, even in a space that was foreign to him—but her momma didn’t raise her to be rude. She stepped up next to him as he sliced the tomato and rested her fingers on his back, resisting the urge to slip them under his T-shirt and feel all that hot, smooth skin. “What can I help with?”
He glanced down at her. “Nothing. Go on and sit down.”
“There must be something I can do.”
He set the knife on the cutting board and wrapped his fingers around her nape, pulling her to him and pressing his mouth against hers. When he slipped his tongue through her lips, she met him stroke for stroke, resting her hands on his chest and melting right into him. Didn’t matter how many times they’d done this or how long it’d been since they had, her knees went weak every single time.
When she was good and panting, he kissed his way to her ear and nipped her earlobe. “You can help by stayin’ outta my way and tellin’ me about your day.” He pulled back, turned her around, then swatted her bottom and shooed her toward the dining table.
While he made their grilled ham and cheese sandwiches, she filled him in on her hellish day at town hall, lamenting how boring her job was and how frustrating it was working for a man who had no respect for her or her time. He updated her on the appointments they’d scheduled—they were now booked out through December—and wondered if they needed to hire someone to handle the scheduling and front office stuff because of how busy they were becoming.
It didn’t go unnoticed that he hadn’t asked her to do it or just assumed she would. It was a near replica of what she did at town hall, but it wasn’t what she wanted. It wasn’t what she wasgoodat. And she didn’t know what it said about her father that Nash recognized that about Rory without her having to say a word, but her flesh and blood hadn’t managed the same feat.
By the time Nash brought their plates over, her stomach was rumbling, and all manners had fled her body. She dug in with fervor, moaning at her first bite. It was a simple enough adaptation of a traditional grilled cheese, but it was delicious.
“You like it?”
She glanced over to find him staring at her, his eyes fixed on her mouth. Her lips quirked up. “I think my moan probably told you that.”
“We both know when you’rereallyenjoyin’ something, you go silent.”
Warmth bloomed inside her, though not from embarrassment. He was so…awareof her—so much more so than anyone in her life had been previously. Not just intimately either. He noticed her moods, noticed when she was having a fantastic day or an utterly shit day. She couldn’t hide with him. Wasn’t even sure she wanted to. It was thrilling and terrifying all at once.
“I didn’t take you for a chef.”
“Grilled cheese with deli ham and a tomato is hardly gourmet.”
She lifted a shoulder. “Maybe not, but it’s amazing. Your daddy teach you how to cook?”
A harsh laugh burst from Nash. “The only thing my old man taught me was how not to cut off a finger while workin’ a rotary saw. Everything else, I learned on my own. Sorta had to figure shit out if I wanted something besides cereal for supper.”
