When Gretchen excused herself to go primp in the restroom, leaving most of her plate untouched, Luke reached for his cell phone to send a quick text.
Claire needs to eat.
He added the address and hit send. A few minutes later his phone vibrated in response. He glanced at the screen, not sure how to feel about what he’d done.
Not the fucking golden arches, asshole. Will take care of it for her. Not for you.
Luke pocketed his phone knowing Eric would make sure Claire didn’t starve and hoping he didn’t take it upon himself to give her anything but the food. He shoved aside the irrational jealousy considering what he himself was doing, before picking up his fork and finishing off the truly exceptional tuna.
CLAIRE HEARD HER phone beep, telling her something had tripped the motion sensor at the front door. Her heart leapt into her throat. She knew she’d locked the door, and with Luke out of town there was no reason for anyone else to be there. She slid the phone from her pocket, hoping for just a moment that he might have come home early. But the man on the screen wasn’t Luke. He turned to face the camera, and Claire’s breath went out on a whoosh.
Eric Auxtres was standing on her front porch holding a bottle of wine and bag which looked like the ones Luke brought her from Comme Ci.
She set down the paint roller and fussed with her ponytail as she hurried down the stairs to the front door. She knew Eric was Luke’s best friend but she still had enough of a celebrity crush on him not to want to look like a homeless person. She glanced down at her paint stained T-shirt and jeans, the ensemble completed by the steel toe boots she’d had on since the jobsite this morning. It was hopeless, and she was starving. Eric wasn’t here to pick her up. Her appearance didn’t matter that much, she thought and then she looked at her paint spattered hand on the door knob and cringed.
Couldn’t be helped. She opened the door and found herself face to face with the charming Frenchman who graced the covers of magazines and cookbooks.
“Chef, to what do I owe this pleasure?” she asked, stepping aside to let Eric in.
“I, cher, am your knight in shining armor,” he said, leaning in press a kiss to each of her cheeks. She smelled the soft clean scent of some kind of expensive soap and then he was moving through her house, taking in every detail. Closing the door behind him, she hurried to catch up.
“This is extraordinary,” he said, making his way through the dining room to the kitchen. “Ah, but no kitchen yet.”
“The cabinets will be delivered this week,” she said. “Not what you’re used to I’m sure, but it’s a decent size for a family home.”
“It’s beautiful, cher. All of it and I can only imagine it will become more beautiful as you continue to add your touch to it.”
Her face flushed at his praise. She was proud of what she’d done, but it felt nice to have her work validated.
“Thank you,” she said. “But I’m sorry. I can’t even offer you a seat.”
“No matter,” he said, setting down the bag he was carrying on a relatively clean patch of floor and dropping down beside it. “Sit.” He patted the floor beside him. “We’ll have a picnic.”
“I really am glad you’re here. I get working and by the time I remember to stop, it’s too late. Everything’s closed,” she said feeling a little sheepish. Surely a grown woman should be able to feed herself
“Don’t worry. I’m here to save you.”
She laughed as he started to unpack the bag, setting a pair of glasses beside the bottle along with napkins silverware and a stack of boxes.
“How did you know I’d be hungry or where to find me for that matter? Luke must have called you.” The idea that he was still looking out for her even when he was out of town loosened some of the tightness in her chest she’d been feeling since the previous night’s encounter.
“He just sent a text.” Eric passed her a glass of wine and raised his in a toast. “I made the food and brought it to you. That is a much bigger deal, cher.”
She couldn’t hold back the laugh which bubbled out. “Absolutely,” she said, raising her glass.
“To new friends.”
Claire took a sip of the cool white wine. It was crisp, light and delicious with just a hint of pear. Eric spread something on a water cracker and held it to her lips when she reached to take it from his hands.
“Bite,” he said pressing the cracker to her lips and leaving her no choice but to comply. It was buttery and rich with the slightest hint of herbs underneath.
“God, that’s so good.” She groaned in pleasure. Now that there was the prospect of food her poor neglected stomach had woken with a vengeance.
He held the second half of the cracker to her lips and watched intently, almost hungrily as she opened her mouth and took the bite from his fingers.
“It’s my chicken liver pate,” he said, following the cracker with a slice of pear. He pressed the sweet slice to her lips and she opened her mouth to take it, closing her eyes in pleasure as the sugary, slightly grainy taste hit her tongue. When she opened her eyes, Eric was sipping his wine watching her likeshewas something good to eat. His expression made her uncomfortable. It was too open somehow. Too overt. But if she was being honest with herself, seeing him look at her like that tightened something low in her body. Eric was a playful, charming flirt, but looking at him sitting on the grubby floor of her house feeding her gourmet food, she could see there was a much darker and more demanding side of everyone’s favorite chef.
“I’m not a baby bird, Eric. I can handle eating crackers by myself.” It was too intimate having another man feed her, especially one who was looking at her the way he was.
