He let her go and shifted to her side, setting his hip against the counter’s edge. He folded his arms as he eyed her. “Our options for dinner include spaghetti, hamburgers, and tacos.”
She set her phone on the counter and adjusted her angle so she could face him. He was wearing a T-shirt and lounging pants, and she did her best to keep her eyes on his instead of roaming over his chest and lower, where his well-worn pants hung on his hips. “Tacos.”
“Tacos it is.” Instead of leaving, he stayed put, his attention focused. “I like it.”
Not quite following, she asked, “Like what?”
“You without the glasses.”
“Umm, thanks?”
He chuckled. “You’ve got beautiful eyes, Cass. It’s sad to have them kept behind glass.”
The corny observation made her laugh. “Dude, seriously?”
It was his turn to blush. He dropped his arms, straightened, and then ran a hand through his hair. “Sorry, yeah, that was cheesy.” He turned to leave. “I’ll just let you…”
Instantly, she realized he’d been genuine, so she caught his hand, stopping him. “Cheesy or not, thank you, Grayson, for the compliment.” He turned to look at her, his eyes holding an amber tint as the gold striations appeared to glow. “Yours are gorgeous too,” she said. It slipped out.
He grinned. “Good to know.”
Flustered, she let him go and gave him a slight nudge. “Go, make me tacos. I’m hungry.”
He pulled off a half bow. “Your wish, my command.” He was at the door when he asked, “Do you need your glasses? I can grab them from the nightstand.”
She shook her head. “No, I’m good.”
He stopped outside the bathroom door and cocked his head, his expression quizzical. “You don’t need them, do you?”
She met his gaze in the mirror. “What?”
“Your glasses,” he said as she continued to watch him. “It was something your mother said.”
There was a lot her mother had spewed. She gave him an honest answer. “No.”
He didn’t push for an explanation. “Leave them off while you’re here?”
His question, strung between them, was anchored in something deeper. She wondered if he understood what he was asking. When he continued to hold her gaze with an alluring steadiness, she took a chance and gave a hesitant nod.
His grin widened, and he tapped the doorframe with his hand twice before guiding their conversation back into safe waters. “Okay, you’ve got fifteen minutes, then I’m going to need you on lettuce and tomatoes.”
“I’ll be there.”
He disappeared, and she waited until she heard faint noises of pans being pulled out before she blew out a long breath. Meeting her eyes in the mirror, she admonished herself, “Get it together, Cass.”
She sped through brushing her teeth, taming her hair into a loose bun, and putting on more substantial clothing. Then she finally checked her phone to find a text from Sofia.
11 at Broken Hen on Charleston?
She wandered into Grayson’s kitchen, where he was browning meat at the stove. He turned to her and motioned to the counter behind them with the spatula. “Got stuff out for you.”
Cass found a cutting board, knife, a half head of lettuce, and a couple of Roma tomatoes waiting for her. “On it.” She took one of the bar stools. “Sofia texted.”
“Yeah?”
“Mm-hmm. Wants to meet at Broken Hen on Charleston at eleven.”
“Not a problem.”
