Jenna couldn’t put a finger on it exactly, but there was somethingthat made her feel…warm. A little tingly in places. Nervous. Definitely nervous, but in that kind of fun way, where the butterflies flew lower in her body than usual.
She put a pot of water on the stove to boil and sautéed a little minced garlic in a deep skillet, along with a small bit of chopped onion. A glass of wine sat on the counter next to her, and a beautiful woman sat in the chair behind her. Arnold was curled up in his donut bed, probably exhausted from his own stress and excitement, and Wallace and Gromit were lounging in the living room. It all painted a very domestic—and unnervingly comfortable—picture, and Jenna tried not to dwell on it as she stirred.
“How’s the blog lately?” she asked Sawyer.
“I’m a little behind, to be honest. I need to get a couple of reviews up soon. Plus, I need to schedule a couple of interviews…” Her voice drifted off, and Jenna turned to look at her. Sawyer gave her a half grin. “Been a little preoccupied.”
Guilt immediately flooded through her as she turned back to the stove. “I’m sorry. I know I’ve been taking up some of your time. I just—”
“No.” The way Sawyer said that one small word, the emphasis she put on it, had Jenna spinning to look at her again. When their eyes met, Sawyer smiled and softened her voice. “No. You have no need to apologize. The time I’ve been spending with you has been much more fun than sitting at home alone, writing my snarky blog.”
A laugh shot out of Jenna then. “Ithasbeen kinda snarky.”
“You’ve read it?” Sawyer’s blue eyes went wide behind her glasses.
“Of course I have. I wanted to make sure you took that ridiculous romance blog down.” She shot a sly grin at Sawyer and didn’t get into details of how she’d gotten sucked in, had spent an entire day at the shop reading Sawyer’s blog, going back months and then years. It was the posts from the last eight to twelve months, though, that had signaled a change.
Sawyer sighed. “I guess my writing can reflect my life sometimes. When I was going through the shit with Amanda, I was kind of mad at everything.” Her small chuckle held a bitter edge.
“I get that.” A can of crushed tomatoes went into the pan.
“What about you?” Sawyer asked.
Jenna turned to meet her gaze, watched as Sawyer sipped her wine. “What about me?”
“Relationship-wise, I mean. Don’t take this the wrong way, but why is somebody like you single?”
“Somebody like me?” she teased.
“You know what I mean. You’re successful, smart, kind, hot…” Sawyer lifted one shoulder as if this was all common knowledge.
Jenna added some salt and pepper and then some freshly chopped basil to the sauce, and put the spaghetti into the boiling water, the whole time trying to hide the giddy grin at being called hot by somebody as hot as Sawyer Hall. “I guess…” She made herself really think about the question and answer honestly. “I guess I’m just waiting for the right person to come along. So far, she’s taking her time.”
“Do you date?”
“Sure. I date. Not terribly often, but I date.” She held up the wooden spoon she’d been using. “In fact, I went out two months ago with a pilot.”
“Ooh, sexy.”
“She was. She was also an egomaniac and hugely narcissistic. No, thanks.”
“Yeah, those are no good.”
“So, I’m just waiting until my princess comes along.” She gave the pasta a stir to keep it from clumping.
“Like your very own romance novel, yeah?” She could hear the teasing tone in Sawyer’s voice, and she turned to look at her.
“As a matter of fact.”
“And you think she’s just gonna walk into your life one day? Just show up out of the blue?”
Jenna held her gaze for a beat before lifting one shoulder and saying simply, “Maybe.”
The air felt charged. Electric. Like either one of them could get zapped at any moment. Jenna wanted to feel that excitement forever, but at the same time, needed it to stop. She wet her lips and made herself turn back to the stove, but her heart pounded and her palms sweat, and, goddamn it, her underwear was damp now, too. She wondered if Sawyer was feeling something similar. She also didn’t want to know.
“So,” she said, her tone clearly indicating a change of subject, she hoped, “what’s the next review? What are you reading now?” Shedidn’t look at Sawyer, hoped she’d taken the hint and was collecting herself, too.
“The new Stephen King, actually. I’m about a third of the way in.”
