Kayla mumbled, "You might be surprised," as she got her own phone out and sank into the couch to make her call. Barney inched his way off the blanket into her lap, and Jordan was still smiling at the homey picture they made when Kayla eventually joined him in the kitchen. "Well, that could have gone worse."
"Suggesting it also could have gone better?" Jordan had the vegetables ready to go by then, and was pouring a little oil into the bottom of his roasting pan so he could lay sliced onions down before putting the chicken on them. "I forgot to ask if you're allergic to anything."
"No, I'm good. And it can always go better if you're calling a studio to tell them there's been a hitch in the get-along." Kayla sighed and took a seat across from him—he was working at the island in the middle of the kitchen, the stove behind him, and there were three chairs on the bar side of the island. "The budget can swallow a half-day's delay, but if Cyril's not back in the chair come morning, I've got the green light to take over until we're either finished filming or they can find somebody else. Which, two weeks before Christmas, is not an easy prospect."
"But you'll get to direct." Jordan felt a slow smile crawling across his face. "Isn't that a kind of great opportunity?"
"I'll let you know after it's a disaster or not." Kayla put her face in her hands, then looked at him through her fingers. "It's definitely not how I would opt to make a directorial debut. On the other hand, we can't wait on Cyril and his mantrums?—"
Jordan howled, "Mantrums!" and tried to applaud with his hands full of oiled potatoes and carrots. Vegetables squirted up, out, onto the counter, onto the floor and Barney, with the uncanny ability of dogs everywhere to sense an opportunity, came skidding into the kitchen at full speed. He'd seized two pieces of carrot before Jordan even got done being dismayed at the mess, and grabbed a chunk of potato as he ran out again, clearly suspecting his thieving was unwelcome.
Kayla leaped to her feet and began to help clean up, scolding the dog half-heartedly and throwing carrots and potatoes into the sink so they could be washed. She stood, hands oily, and was suddenly in Jordan's personal space, smiling up at him. "Never heard 'mantrum' before, huh?"
Another laugh bubbled inside him, despite the mess. "No, I hadn't, and I knew a few guys on some teams who needed to hear that term. Sorry, I don't usually throw dinner on the floor…" She was so close, and smelled wonderful, some kind of light floral scent with a sort of windy undertone. He didn't know how perfume could smell like the wind, but Kayla's did, and he forgot how to talk, just gazing down at her.
Her smile was incredibly soft and forgiving, and she clearly didn't mind being so close, because she didn't back away at all. "At least you threw it on the floor before it was cooked, so it could be washed off, roasted, and eaten. If a whole roasted chicken had hit the floor, Barney would befeastingright now."
"And I'd be ordering pizza." He couldn't catch her face in his hands and kiss her, no matter how much he wanted to. For one, they'd only re-met yesterday. Jordan didn't think they'd escalated to kissing friends yet. More importantly, his handswere completely coated in vegetable oil and herbs, which Kayla absolutely did not need smeared all over her lovely face.
She said, "Sink," and for a second he had no idea what she meant. Then she did an awkward little motion, scooting past him, and he realized she wanted to wash her hands. Mostly, though, he was mind-bendingly aware of the brush of her hips against his, and the softness of her body so close to his own. Maybe hedidhave a script writer somewhere, because he couldn't think how else he might have ended up with Kayla Walsh in his kitchen.
"Here, let me…" He reached past her, using the heel of his hand to turn the faucet on. It turned farther than he intended and a blast of water slammed down into the sink, hit the spoon he'd used to mix up the vegetables, and sprayed upward in an enthusiastic arc. Cold water hit Jordan in the face and Kayla shrieked as he tried desperately to turn the faucet off again. His hands were oily, though, and he fumbled the turn once before managing to shut it off.
By then they were both soaked, Kayla worse than Jordan. "Oh my God, I amsosorry."
She was holding her hands away from her body, staring down at her shirt in dismay. "This is a costume. Oh, dammit, I was so het up about Cyril I didn't think to change and now there's oil and water stains. Oh, Carmen is going to kill me dead. I've got to be wearing this tomorrow. Oh, man!"
Jordan thought he might shrink away into absolutely nothing. "I'm so sorry, Kayla. I didn't mean to mess up your outfit. It might dry okay?"
Kayla looked up at him, expression wry. "It's not your fault. I should have remembered to change into regular clothes, and who knew the vegetables would be escape artists?"
"In your defense," Jordan said helplessly, "those look like regular clothes."
They did, too: Kayla was in black jeans and a fitted, v-necked teal t-shirt that was nearly the same color as her eyes. Well, the dry parts were the color of her eyes. The wet parts were much darker, and clung to her curves appealingly without really giving anything away: it was obviously a wet t-shirt, but wasn't in wet t-shirtcontestterritory. She glanced down at herself again and made a sound between a laugh and a groan. "They do, don't they? Except they're tailored to me, and honestly they're so comfortable. I love working with Carmen, she's so good at making thingsfitand look great. A lot of my costumes go home into my closet after shooting, because about eighty percent of themarejust clothes. The rest are the ballgowns and party dresses that go back into wardrobe so they can be used on another movie. Look, I'm going to have to?—"
Dismayed understanding crashed through Jordan. "Go, yeah, I get it. I'm really sorry, Kayla. I hope we can do dinner another night?"
"Oh." Kayla blinked up at him. She had a slow blink, one that tangled her eyelashes together before it opened again. Her eyelashes were thick and dark, too, like Elizabeth Taylor's, and Jordan had a sudden, wistful image of watching that sleepy slow blink and those dark-rimmed eyes greeting him in the mornings. Fortunately Kayla spoke again before he could say anything idiotic. "I was going to say, I'm going to have to call Carmen and ask her to send somebody to pick these up so they can be cleaned properly before shooting tomorrow. If I can borrow a t-shirt and sweatpants, maybe?"
"Oh.Oh.Really? Yeah, of course. Of course!" God, he was suave. Every leading man in Hollywood needed to take lessons from him, he was that suave. Jordan took three quick steps toward the kitchen door, then froze and turned back with his still-oily hands lifted.
Kayla giggled and took a prudent step back from the sink, gesturing at it with her own oily hands. "Be my guest."
Jordan turned the water on much more carefully this time, and still managed to splash himself again. He swore and Kayla giggled, taking another exaggerated step back. "Maybe move the spoon?" she suggested delicately.
"You would think I was smart enough to do that in the first place," Jordan muttered. He finally did move it, got the hot water mix right, and washed his hands, then stepped back to dry them and gestured for Kayla to take his place. "I'll get you some dry clothes. Again, I'msosorry."
"And here I was thinking you'd set it up to get me out of my clothes on the first date," Kayla said, deadpan.
Jordan spluttered. "I'm nowhere near that good of a player."
Her pealing laughter followed him as he went to find her some clothes to change into. He owned absolutely nothing that would fit her: she wasn't short, but he was six two, and had at least five inches of height on her. Obviously he hadn't thought this through. If he'd been prepared, he would have?—
He would have what, he asked himself, several full outfits for women lying around? He couldn't even begin to imagine explaining that. So he grabbed one of his favorite t-shirts, a pair of sweats, and, as an afterthought, some extra socks, in case hers had gotten wet. He went back to the kitchen, where Kayla was, in fact, barefoot with her socks in one hand and her phone in the other. She shot him a sparkling smile as he put the clothes on the counter, mouthed, 'thank you,' and aloud said, "Thanks, Carmen. I'm sorry I left in costume. I just wasn't thinking."
After a moment of listening, she snickered and nodded. "No, yeah, he was. But hopefully everything will be smoothed out tomorrow, and if it's not…" Her voice firmed. "I've got a plan." Another pause, and she laughed again. "Yes, a plan that involves needing the costume ready for filming again. Okay. Great. Thankyou. I'll see her in a bit." She hung up, tucked her phone in the back pocket of her jeans, then made a face and took it out again, putting it on the counter and picking Jordan's clothes up instead. "I'm not going to want that in the jeans when I hand them over to costuming. Thanks. Where's the bathroom…?"
"Down the hall to the left."
