Inwardly scrambling but outwardly unmoving, Vivian reached for a good reason to care. “We can finish this book tomorrow, but not if your stomach sounds like a damn wheat combine.”
“A what?” Bryn laughed in earnest, shoulders easing. “Pretty sure your Wiki said you’d been born and raised in Miami. Did you have a secret life as an Iowa farmer?”
“Iowa grows corn.” Vivian rolled her eyes, but she turned toward the house to get her phone before her smirk got away from her. “Come on. I’ll order you something to eat so we don’t all have to suffer the consequences of your growling gut tomorrow.”
“On a delivery app? No way.” Bryn shook her head when Vivian turned back toward her. “It might be my side hustle but on principle I refuse to let anyone pay a 90% markup on a cheeseburger,” she said adamantly. “If you let me in the house, I’ll make myself something.”
“Absolutely not,” Vivian said, instinct protecting the sanctity of her space. “Wait here. We can use the grill.” She muttered the rest to herself. “If I can figure out how the hell to start the thing.”
Inside, Vivian finished the bottle of wine because it didn’t make sense to put out something already opened, and grabbed a new bottle of Merlot. Bryn had mentioned burgers. Filet mignon was the only red meat in the fridge. It would go nicely with a full-bodied red. Zucchini and squash would be easy on the grill. She grabbed those.
It was only when she approached the sliding door with too much in her hands that she realized the flaw in her plan. Before she could get annoyed by having to take two trips, Bryn appeared on the other side of the glass.
With a grin, she slid open the door. “Am I allowed to touch the handle or is that against your rules?”
Vivian pointed her chin in the air. “I suppose I can tolerate the incursion for a moment.”
Laughing, Bryn closed the door behind her.
God, it was unnerving how endlessly amused she was. How hard to scare off.
“I got the grill going,” Bryn said when she took the bottle of wine and the wrapped steaks. “Can you grab a cutting board?” She looked up at Vivian like she hadn’t had a hellish day. Like she was genuinely happy to be in her company. Like she knew Vivian was buzzing from wine. “And a bottle opener?”
“There’s one in the drawer by the wine fridge,” Vivian replied too quickly. She cleared her throat before she added, “Do you know how to use a Waiter’s Corkscrew?”
Bryn cocked her head to one side, the full moon amplifying the mischievous light in her blue eyes. “I’ve been told I have excellent manual dexterity.” She moistened her lips, her gaze dropping to Vivian’s hands for a split second before snapping back up. “And even if I didn’t, I’m very good at figuring out how to make things work.”
Vivian froze. The air between them, already thick with humidity, suddenly charged. Confining.
Is she flirting with me?
The question bloomed hot and sudden in Vivian’s chest, and then there was the traitorous spike in her pulse. The look in Bryn’s eyes was too direct, the cadence of her voice too low to be entirely innocent.
Don’t be absurd, Vivian’s mind snapped back, dousing the spark with a bucket of cold logic.She is talking about a bottle of wine. Maybe Iris was onto something with her constant nagging about Vivian spending too much time alone. She was hallucinating romantic interest from a woman half her age.
Well, nothalf, but Bryn was nineteen years her junior. If their age difference was old enough to vote, it was too wide for Bryn to actually be flirting with her. Self-imposed exile was messing with her perceptions.
Vivian didn’t acknowledge Bryn’s comment. What the hell was she supposed to say?Yes, your hands are objectively attractive and your fingers look nimble. Jesus.
By the time Vivian returned from inside the house with a cutting board, knife, and a bunch of seasonings, Bryn had opened the bottle. When Vivian approached, Bryn picked up the two generously poured glasses of Merlot.
“To… a day.” Bryn’s body sagged but the light in her eyes stubbornly persisted. “Thanks for being so understanding about everything today.”
Vivian took the wine even if she should have turned around. Should have gone to bed and let Bryn, a grown ass woman, figure out her own damn dinner. She didn’t need Vivian to hold her damn hand.
“I really appreciate?—”
Vivian crashed her glass against Bryn’s to stop the unnecessary display of gratitude. “Cheers,” she said, slamming the door on the conversation.
Bryn absorbed the toast with a friendly, “Cheers.”
After a sip, Bryn reached for the salt and garlic powder. Vivian’s wine-soaked brain reacted too slowly. It was time to take her glass inside and leave Bryn alone, but her legs didn’t move and then Bryn was looking at her again. Looking at her like she was both the most ordinary person and like she was something worth beholding.
“So, how do you like it?” Bryn looked at her, voice low and pretty face soft. “Pink and warm in the center?”
The Merlot solidified in her throat, making her cough. “What?”
Bryn furrowed her brow, eyes cutting to the two raw filets and back to Vivian. “Your steak?”
