She sounded so confident about her food list that my mouth twitched. “Okay then. That’s a very specific list.”
“I know what I want to eat and what I don’t. Those are a definite no.” She stood and wrapped the blanket over her shoulders, making her look like an oddly shaped burrito. Then she dragged her feet toward me and sat at the kitchen table. My breathing accelerated at the sight of her in my place, sitting at my kitchen table, and waiting for me to deliver her breakfast. It weirded me out how easily she fit into my space, even though this wasn’t a morning after a hookup or anything down that road. I needed to get a grip on myself.
She chewed the side of her lip, and her cheeks tinged pink. “Thank you for making some food. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until I smelled it. I can totally cook the next one.” Her chipper voice contained a slight waver as she traced small circles on the table with her pointer finger.
Is she nervous? Uncomfortable?
I hated thinking I made her nervous. Was it because of that damn date two years ago? Or the silence? I didn’t have a lot to say, so being quiet felt more natural, but her nervous ticks made my chest tighten. I wanted her feeling safe. My muscles strained with unease, and I thought about sneaking downstairs to get another workout in. My home gym had everything I needed, and I’d risk the cold at this point just to do something to ease the awkwardness. Having this energy in my house was new to me.
Hoping to reduce her awkwardness, I said, “We’ll figure it out. I don’t mind cooking.”
I found two paper plates on a shelf and served the eggs, topping them with vegetables. The fact that I still had paper plates from an old football party worked out perfectly because I sure as hell didn’t want to do dishes in freezing cold water. And not cleaning wasn’t an option. Hanging out with smelly players in locker rooms for most of my days made me obsessive about the cleanliness of my own house.
I handed her a fork, and she dove in.
Becca shoveled eggs into her mouth like it had been years instead of hours since she’d last eaten. She released the smallest moans with every bite. It distracted the hell out of me. Her throaty sighs and happy expressions reminded me of our one date. She’d savored every bite that night and insisted on having me try her food. It was so different having someone offer me a bit of food from their own fork that I froze, probably hurting her feelings.
I had never met anyone who enjoyed food the way she did, or who ate like it was a special event. I liked knowing my cooking made her happy. It was an odd feeling.
I hadn’t touched my plate yet, content with watching her. She stopped with the fork midway to her mouth.
“Why aren’t you eating?” She jutted her chin to my plate.
I stabbed the plate with my fork a little too hard, shaking the tabletop, before shoveling some eggs into my mouth. “Mm.”
Mm? I saidMm? What the hell was wrong with me?
She brought another bite to her mouth and ate with more grace this time. No groans. No frenzy like the food would evaporate into thin air. Damn. I missed her enthusiastic way of eating, but my staring had probably freaked her out.
“This is good, Harrison. Thank you.”
“Welcome.”
“Honestly, I never would’ve pegged you for a guy who could whip up a good breakfast. That’s for sure. Very pleasant surprise.” She smiled, her lips stretching across her entire face.
“Why not?”
“Why not… oh, why is it a surprise?” Her brows came together, and her pretty lips parted into anOshape.
“Yes.” I set my fork down so it balanced on my plate and I gave her my full attention.
Her comment bothered me. Did she think of me as a total asshole who wouldn’t cook for her while she stayed? Or was it something else? Like maybe I was so unskilled that I ordered takeout every night? My muscles tensed.
Her hesitant gaze met mine, and her face softened. “Well, you coach football and are single.” She dropped her fork with a loud clink and squeezed her eyes shut. “Oh, yikes, I can’tassumethat. I don’t know you. Or your dating life. You could be verynotsingle. You could have a serious girlfriend. Or be engaged!”
I covered my mouth with my hand, hiding my smile at the embarrassment on her face. I considered letting her stew a few seconds longer, just to see how red her face could get or how much her hands could flail in the air, but I was a decent guy. “Becca, it’s fine. I’m not seeing anyone. I’m single.”
She released a long breath, picked up the fork like a wand, and met my gaze. “I stereotyped you, and for that, I’m sorry.”
This time, I didn’t hide my smile. “I’ll let it slide this once.”
Missing my joke, vivid red splotches lit high on her cheeks. She gave me a firm nod. “I know better than to make assumptions. You being a football coach has nothing to do with your abilities in the kitchen. Or anywhere, really. You could be a great knitter or juggler or dancer. I don’t know, and it’s not my business to assume a dang thing.”
Wow. The knot in my chest loosened. “I’m not a great knitter or juggler or dancer.”
“You could be.”
“True. I guess you could also be all those things. I would never assume.” I teased her again. It was too easy, and damn, there was something about her that made me comfortable.
