I follow him to the kitchen, where he takes a lasagna and some garlic bread from the oven. I sip my wine as I watch him plate up.
Not long after, he carries two plates to the small dining table where a salad already waits. “It’s just a ready-made lasagna from the general store,” he says with an apologetic half-smile. “I’m not much of a cook.”
“Hey, a hot meal on a cold night? And one I didn’t have to cook? I’ll take it.” I pick up my fork. “It looks and smells amazing.”
We eat in silence for a few minutes. Kit is pushing the lasagna around his plate more than eating it. His brow is furrowed, lips pressed in a tight line. “Hey, there’s no pressure here,” I say, wanting to put him at ease. “We can get to know each other as friends. We don’t need to be anything more.” I say the words, but I can’t deny I wouldn’t be opposed to more than friendship. However, friends is better than nothing and it looks as if that’s what Kit needs right now.
He visibly relaxes, the tension easing from his shoulders. “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good.” He pauses, then adds softly, “I’d like us to be friends.”
“Me too,” I say. And I mean it. Underneath that prickly exterior, I know there’s a man there that I’d like to know, and he just needs time to open up.
“Alright then, it’s settled.” Kit extends his hand across the table. “Friends?”
I shake it firmly. “Friends.”
His hand is warm in mine. For a moment, our eyes lock, and an undercurrent of electricity passes between us. I let go first, casually leaning back in my chair, not wanting to spook him.
“Well, friend, since you admitted you can’t cook, maybe I’ll bring over one of my homemade casseroles sometime,” I say, lightening the mood. “I also have loads of leftovers from the coffee shop.”
Kit grins. “I’d like that. Just don’t tell the whole town I’m a terrible cook. I have a reputation as a fully functioning adult to maintain.”
I mime locking my lips. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
We laugh then, the tension broken, and the rest of evening passes in relaxed conversation.
As I leave later that night, I’m hopeful. We may not be romantically involved, but I love his company and for now, friendship is enough.
I’mtakingadayoff. My last free day was spent working around the cabins but today it’s all about pleasure. I’ve got a definite bounce in my step as I approach Jake’s Tap. I still can’t believe Kit agreed to meet for lunch given he said how under the pump he was, but I’m glad he did.
I arrive first, settling into a booth near the back. The lunch crowd is sparse, just a few regulars sitting up at the bar. I order an iced tea while I wait, sipping it slowly as I watch the door. Not long after, Kit walks in, scanning the room until he spots me. I wave and his face lights up as he heads straight over.
“Hi,” he says, sliding into the booth across from me.
“Hi yourself.”
We chat for a bit until the server appears and takes our orders. We continue with meaningless small talk until the food and a beer for Kit arrives. Once the server leaves, an awkward silence falls. We both take a sip of our drinks, not quite making eye contact.
I put my glass down. “So—” I begin.
“So—” Kit says at the same time.
We both laugh.
“This doesn’t have to be weird,” I say. “We’re just two friends having lunch.”
Kit leans back against the vinyl booth. “You’re right.”
Thankfully the conversation flows more easily after that. We eat heaped bowls of pasta and chat about books and Kit’s writing. He seems a lot more serious about his writing than I first thought and even has a publisher. I’m impressed and hang on his every word. It’s fascinating to hear about the publishing world. He’s more relaxed, his guard lowered as he talks about the creative process and an upcoming deadline.
“Wow. You’re under a lot of pressure. I thought being an author was a glamorous life. You know, typing away on an old manual typewriter in the garret of your mansion while your butler brings you tea, or maybe scribbling in a notebook while sipping on chianti overlooking an orchard in Tuscany.”
Kit laughs, head thrown back. I’m transfixed by the line of his throat, and the movement of his Adam’s apple. I want to reach out and touch him but stop myself. We’re just friends. But the chemistry between us is undeniable. His gaze lingers on me in a way that’s definitely more than friendly and makes my stomach flutter. Our eyes lock again, and I lean in instinctively. Kit’s tongue darts out to wet his lips, and the urge to kiss him is overpowering—I want another taste of him.
Then the server appears to clear the table, breaking the spell.
I sit back and down the last of my iced tea, needing the cold drink to calm me down. But there’s an awareness thrumming between us, a heat that’s hard to ignore. I can’t help wonder if this friends thing is going to work. I want it to for Kit’s sake, but hell, it’s going to kill me. I can’t help hoping for more.
Later, as we leave the bar, I can feel eyes on us. I know word will spread fast about Kit and my lunch date despite us just being friends. Let them talk, I think defiantly, stealing a glance at Kit’s profile. What we have is no one’s business but our own.
