Learn to cook. That one popped uninvited into her head. She frowned because how did one simply learn to cook? Even Devon possessed rudimentary know-how in the kitchen. He could prepare simple dishes. She wasn’t even sure she could boil water if necessary.
Okay that one should be simple enough. Pippa was a first-rate cook and it wouldn’t be strange that Ashley would want to learn to cook a fabulous meal for her new husband. She could say she wanted to surprise him with a romantic meal for two.
And cooking shows. There was an entire television network devoted to cooking. Surely there was something she could watch there that would help.
Cleaning. Okay, she knew how to clean. She just didn’t possess the organization skills to do it well. But she could muddle her way through it. It simply required discipline and less of a scatterbrain mentality.
She had to curb her tongue and her reactions. That should be simple enough. Smile and nod instead of shriek and wave her hands. Her mother was an expert at all the social graces but then she’d had to be with all the business functions she’d arranged and managed for her husband.
Ashley could certainly draw on the resources around her. She’d never particularly had a desire to be more like her family. She hadn’t really considered that she was so different. She hadn’t thought much about how she compared. Why would she? But they could help her. She just had to make sure she employed their help in a way that didn’t give away the true reason for her transformation.
The door to Devon’s office opened and he stepped out, looked her way and then started toward her.
“Can’t sleep?” he asked. “Do you need anything?”
She shook her head and pulled the blanket closer to her chin. “I’m fine. Just getting comfortable.”
He took a seat in the armchair across from the couch. Their gazes connected but she didn’t look away, as tempted as she was. She couldn’t keep avoiding him, no matter how desirable the prospect was.
It was hard for her because humiliation crept up her spine every time she had to face him, but eventually that would go away or she’d harden enough that it would no longer affect her. Or at least she hoped so.
“I spoke to your parents. Your mother is naturally concerned for you. She’d like you to call her when you’re feeling up to it. Your father wants to see me in the morning, so if you’re okay by then, I’ll be out for a few hours.”
“I’ll be fine,” she said softly. “Headache’s gone. No reason for you to stay home and babysit me.”
“If you need anything at all or if you begin to feel bad again, call me. I’ll come home.”
Hell would freeze over before she’d ever call him at work again, not that she’d tell him that. She nodded instead and sighed unhappily. So this is what her marriage boiled down to. A stilted, awkward conversation between two people who were clearly uncomfortable in each other’s presence.
“Do you think you could eat something now?” Devon asked, breaking the strained silence. “What would you like?”
Deciding to take the olive branch, or perhaps create an olive branch out of a dinner offer, she shifted and pushed herself up so that her back was against the arm of the couch.
“You could cook, if you don’t mind. I could sit at the bar and watch.”
He looked surprised by her suggestion, but his surprise was quickly replaced by relief. He looked almost hopeful.
“That would be nice. Are you sure you’re up for the noise and the light?”
Again she nodded. She hadn’t talked this little since she’d been a nonverbal toddler. Her parents always swore that because she was late to talk she’d spent the rest of her life making up for lost time.
He stood and held down his hand to her. “Come on then. Bring the blanket with you if you’re cold. You can sit on one of the bar stools and wrap it around you.”
Hesitating only a brief moment, she slid her hand over his, enjoying the warmth of his touch. He curled his fingers around her wrist and helped her from the couch.
She stood up beside him but he waited a moment for her to get her footing.
“Okay?” he asked. “Fuzziness gone yet? I don’t want you falling.”
“I’m fine.”
He didn’t relinquish her hand as he started toward the kitchen. He guided her toward one of the stools and settled her down. He wrapped the blanket around her shoulders and tucked the ends underneath her arms.
“What’s your pleasure tonight?”
He walked around to open the refrigerator, surveyed the contents and then glanced back at her.
It was probably another sign of her shortcomings that she had no idea what was or wasn’t in the fridge. Heat singed her cheeks and she dropped her gaze. Tomorrow she’d take inventory. After she cleaned the house.
