“So, nothing.” Adrian’s grin widened. “Just making conversation. I heard she’s pretty.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“Curvy. Brunette. Smells like sugar, apparently.”
And vanilla,he thought, but he managed to keep the response locked away.
“I heard the kids love her. Half the staff at the school are already in love with her too, from what I hear.” Adrian swirled his whiskey, watching him over the rim. “Single, too. Just moved here from Charlotte.”
“Is there a point to this?” he snapped.
“Just wondering if you’ve met her. You being neighbors and all.”
“We’ve exchanged words.”
“Friendly words?”
He remembered the look on her face when he’d accused her of mocking him. The hurt that had flashed across her features before she’d covered it with indignation. The way she’d squared her shoulders and refused to back down, even though he had at least a foot of height on her.
“Brief words,” he said shortly.
Adrian nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Well, if you’re not interested, maybe I should introduce myself. Been a while since I had a date, and I do love a woman who can cook.”
Something dark and dangerous stirred in his chest. His fingers tightened around his glass hard enough that the crystal groaned in protest.
“Stay away from her.”
The words came out low and rough, more growl than speech. Adrian’s eyebrows shot up, but his smile only widened.
“Something you want to tell me?”
“She’s my neighbor. I don’t want you sniffing around and making things awkward.”
“Uh-huh.” Adrian leaned back in his chair, looking far too pleased with himself. “That’s why you’re crushing that glass like it insulted your mother.”
He forced himself to loosen his grip. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you don’t.” Adrian was quiet for a moment, studying him with those annoyingly perceptive amber eyes. “What’s really going on, Ben? This isn’t like you.”
For a long moment, he considered lying or deflecting or even throwing Adrian out of his office and pretending the conversation never happened.
Instead, he heard himself say, “She brings me food.”
Adrian blinked. “What?”
“Sara. The teacher.” The words felt strange in his mouth, too revealing by half. “She brought me brownies two days ago. And this morning, I found cookies on my doorstep.”
Adrian was staring at him now, all traces of teasing gone from his expression. “She brought you food. Voluntarily. Without you asking.”
“Yes.”
“Homecooked food.”
“Yes.”
“Ben.” Adrian set down his whiskey glass, his voice serious for once. “You know what that means.”
Of course he knew what it meant. Among Others, the act of providing food was intimate—a declaration of interest, of care, of intent. It was how courtships began. How bonds were formed. A female bringing food to a male she wasn’t related to was practically a proposal.
