“You guys!” Maggie pressed her hand to her heart, right where their encouragement landed. “That’s really sweet of you.” She met Cash’s gaze. “Both of you. To be honest, I’m scared that the book will flop. It needs to have something extraordinary, and I’m just not sure what that will be.”
The guys looked at her like she was nuts.
“Um, this.” Cash lifted his plate.
Maggie laughed. An idea started to form. “You know, it would help me a lot if I had some taste testers … Would you mind trying some of my other meals?”
Cash and James exchanged a look. “Twist our arms, why don’t ya,” Cash answered for both of them.
A bubble of hope lifted Maggie higher than she’d been in days. She laughed. “You have to promise to be honest. Don’t tell me it’s yummy if it’s not. Really. We could work out a scale or something, a number between one and ten to rate it.”
James stood, taking his plate to the sink. “Ten. This was a ten.” He rinsed his dish and put it in the dishwasher. Cash followed his example, and they were soon cleaning away all signs of her last-minute rush to feed them.
“I can get that.” Maggie stood, ready to clear her plate. She’d managed to eat half of what was there, but it was enough to know the recipe worked. And with the ringing endorsement of two bachelors who probably ate greasy food most of the time, she was confident enough to mark cinnamon chicken as a yes.
“We can handle this.” Cash took her plate, meeting her eyes and holding her gaze as if he were studying a sky full of stars. “You go write down all of that history stuff, before you forget it.”
Maggie laughed, releasing her hold. “I don’t think I can forget it. But thanks.” She headed off to work while the wheels spun freely in her head. Pausing at the door, she glanced back at Cash, who was scrubbing away at the glass 9x13 pan she’d cooked the chicken in. Was there anything sexier than a man doing dishes? She couldn’t think of anything that compared.
“A few compliments don’t erase the past,” she muttered as she made her way to the office.
Once inside, she sat down and opened her laptop. Thinking back on the meal, Cash’s and James’s reactions, and the compliments that flowed like ketchup at a barbeque, she began to write what was in her heart.
Sharing a meal, no matter the quality, has the ability to bring people together. Perhaps that’s why dates often include dinner and why we screen potential lovers over coffee instead of a full meal. Not only does a meal take time, but it provides a certain amount of intimacy. Especially when one cooks for a guest. If we go to all the trouble for a date, shouldn’t we continue to make that effort for our families? Constantly caring for the needs of those we care about the most brings us together. Is it always accompanied by gratitude? I’m sorry to say it is not. Cooks are constantly taken for granted and even insulted. But it’s not always what you get out of making a meal that matters; sometimes, what matters is what you can give.
She paused, wondering if she’d given anything to Cash and James tonight. Food—certainly. But perhaps a little more. Maybe they felt the connection she’d felt, like they were more than just roommates and coworkers—like they were a small family. At least for forty-five minutes.
With a sigh, she admitted that forty-five minutes wasn’t nearly long enough to undo the lifetime of neglect and abuse they’d both suffered. Nor was it enough for her.
She liked the way she’d felt tonight. And she wanted more of it.
She thumbed through Grams’s recipe box. Looked like spudnuts, as the doughnut recipe was called, were on the menu for tomorrow morning. She was dying to see if they reeled in the men like Cash claimed.
Chapter 10
Cash had been up late making sure the kitchen was spotless. That was why, when he walked in the next morning and found the island covered in trays of doughnuts, the back counter splattered with batter, and the oven splattered with grease, he let out a strangled cry.
Maggie spun around from her place in front of a large pan full of bubbling oil. “Good morning.” Her welcome smile was like a ray of sunshine that hit him square in the chest and stole his breath away. “I made a batch of Grams’s spudnuts and then had ideas for seven variations.” She fished a doughnut out of the oil and dropped it into a bowl full of cinnamon and sugar. Flipping it once, she wiggled it to make sure it was completely covered before placing it on a tray and setting the whole thing on the bar with the rest.
Cash raked his gaze up and down the display. There were iced and sprinkled doughnuts, chocolate-coated ones, frosted decadence, and plain glazed. Not to mention the cinnamon/sugar variety and several others he didn’t have names for. “Is that blueberries?” He pointed to one tray.
Maggie wiped her hands on her frilly apron. Honestly, he’d never seen anything with that many ruffles. The whole thing was ridiculous, and yet it fit Maggie to a tee—colorful, vibrant, with two contrasting cherry prints. The whole thing just looked happy.
He’d forgotten that about her. That she was a pot of joy. Though how he could forget was beyond him.
“Blueberry with a little lemon and poppy seed. At that point, I was just throwing things in the batter and hoping for the best.” She swiped the back of her wrist of her forehead to get the hair off her face. She wore her locks up in a messy knot on her head and had pieces falling down to frame her face.
He wanted to reach out and tuck one behind her ear but was able to keep himself in check. When he touched her, the air grew thick and his body grew heavy with desire for more. That just wouldn’t do. Not if he wanted to keep her around for the six weeks required by his grandfather’s will. Or longer, though the likelihood of her staying was small.
“What time did you get up?” he asked. She looked fresh and beautiful, ready to start the day. The amount of doughnuts on the counter said she’d been at this for a while.
“Four-thirty?” she answered with a question. “I’m not sure. I was really excited to have someone taste things, so …”
“I can’t believe I slept through your shower.” He scrubbed his face.
“Yeah—that pipe is still banging.”
Every time they turned on the shower, a pipe wiggled in the wall. He had a sinking suspicion that they were on borrowed time with that one.
