“All right,” Cash said from the kitchen, a sigh following it. “That’s the salad, the pot pie has ten more minutes…the table.”
Lark smiled to herself, and she took a couple more steps to the end of the hallway, staying out of sight unless Cash looked directly at her. She watched him take a pair of plates out of the cabinet beside the fridge and take them over to the table. He set one at the head and one kitty-corner right next to it, then bent over something there for a few extra seconds.
Then he turned back to the kitchen and walked in a perfectly fluid way to get utensils and glasses. He set the table perfectly, and Lark sure liked watching him pay attention to the details.She wanted it to be because he was nervous about this dinner—thisdate—with her.
Her own anxiety fluttered through her, making her stomach swoop and her legs buckle slightly. To strengthen herself, she took a step out into the kitchen and clapped her hands together just once.
“It smells great out here,” she said as Cash twisted and looked in her direction. She found him terribly handsome and oh-so-cute as he straightened and wiped his hands down the front of his jeans. She suddenly wanted everything to be perfect with the food, with the two of them, with the whole world, if only so Cash could feel good about his efforts.
“It’s almost ready,” he said, taking a few steps toward her. “Come sit down, and we can start with the salad course.” He extended his hand toward her as he drew closer, and Lark’s skin sparked with anticipation of touching his again.
She slid her hand into his, pressing her palm against his and squeezing. He smiled at her and reached up with his free hand to touch the end of her braid. “I like your hair.”
“Thanks,” she said. “I couldn’t braid it myself until I left for college.” She emitted a light laugh and shook her head. “Ridiculous, I know, but my momma was so good at braiding. She used to do hearts for Valentine’s Day and weave ribbons through the plaits for the Fourth of July.”
“Mm, I’d like to see that,” he murmured. He led her over to the table and gave her the seat at the head by pulling out her chair and waiting for her to sit. “I’ll get the salad and toppings. I may have gone a couple of steps past what you said, but it’s like a salad bar, and you can put on what you want.”
Lark watched him duck back into the kitchen, her eyes widening as Cash lifted a long, wide tray from the counter and started to return. A big, glass bowl sat in the middle of it, andas he set the tray onto the table, all the smaller, matching bowls came into view.
One held halved grape tomatoes, another shredded cheese, and a third bright green peas.
“It turns,” he said, and he gently nudged it so a bowl of crumbled bacon came into view, then the homemade croutons, the carafe of homemade ranch dressing, and then the final two bowls—one with broccoli florets and one with cauliflower.
“So, salad.” He picked up her plate and tonged some of the greens onto it. He set it in front of her and repeated the action for his own plate. Only then did he sit down, and he reached for the little spoon in the bacon crumbles.
Lark hopped into motion too, using a pair of clear tongs she’d only ever seen in a restaurant to pinch some shredded cheese over her lettuce.
“This is all the things I put on a salad at a buffet,” Cash said, glancing over to her. “What else would you have?”
Lark considered her salad as she added tomatoes, the croutons, and even the peas. “I’m not a huge fan of raw broccoli,” she said. “And I like hard-boiled eggs on a salad.”
“That sounds good,” Cash said, his smile never-ending. Lark couldn’t help returning it, and she’d just taken her first bite of ranch-dressing-laden salad when the timer on the oven sounded.
“That’s the pot pie.” Cash launched himself out of his seat and back into the kitchen. Lark continued eating while he slid the pot pie onto the stovetop. He returned quickly and slid back into his chair. “We’ll let that rest for a few minutes, but it looks great. Nice and bubbly.”
Lark smiled at him. “I can’t wait to taste it.” And she really couldn’t. She hadn’t anticipated this being her evening, and in fact, when she’d left her apartment that morning, she’d actuallyharbored a brick-sized load of dread in her stomach about having to share the house with Cash.
She’d been insanely attracted to him from the moment they’d met, months ago, but fighting those feelings had taken all of her energy and focus. Yes, he irritated her on a micro-level, but Lark could admit she’d made some assumptions about him that probably weren’t true.
After all, most assumptions weren’t true.
“How’s the salad?” Cash asked.
“Amazing,” Lark said. “You’re winning a lot of points tonight.”
“Am I?” He cocked his head and watched her for a moment before spearing another bite of his salad. “I didn’t realize I needed to earn points.”
“A man always needs to earn points with a woman.” Lark gave him what she hoped was a pretty smile and put one of his homemade croutons in her mouth. After she’d chewed and swallowed it, she added, “And being able to cook is worth a lot of points.”
“I had no idea,” he said. “How have I lived this long and not known this?”
Lark laughed and shook her head. “I don’t know.”
“I like your laugh,” he said, and Lark liked how he could say whatever came into his mind. “It’s like a song, like—like pretty music.”
Lark held his gaze for a moment, and then ducked her chin as a hint of heat threaded through her.
“You’re like a songbird,” he said, his voice quiet and filled with meaning.
