His mouth went dry, and he suddenly had a hankering for tea.
Which was not normal. Coffee was his beverage of choice.
But he wanted to lean in to April and brush his mouth against hers, to experience firsthand the herbal flavor on her lips.
He shook his head.
What was this about? The first order of business on this gig was for him to get a fucking grip.
“What’s on the evening shift?” He cleared his throat, yanked his gaze away from her mouth.
She laughed, a low rumbly sound that made his skin tingle.
The tingle was unreasonable, so he did what he did with unreasonable things. He ignored it.
“You don’t want to know.” She blew again at the steam rising from the surface.
Elbows braced against the counter, he leaned forward. Closer to her. “Have to know to do my job.”
She set the mug down and turned toward the refrigerator, pulling out two Ziploc-type bags. She held them up. “Somehow I make this into an edible dinner for the family using my trusty slow cooker. Then I take Harmony to ballet, Rohan has Little League, and—hopefully—Lola won’t get too crabby before I can get her bathed and in bed.”
“And then?”
“And then I go to bed.”
For a woman who did not thrive on chaos, this was an interesting way for her to live.
“And then you do it all again tomorrow?” He grabbed his notepad from the kitchen table.
April nodded. “And the day after that. And the day after that. Except on Tuesdays and Thursdays—those nights I teach evening classes, so my parents help with getting the kids where they need to be. Sometimes Kent helps, too, depending on his schedule. Or his parents. They adore the kids and always want to see them more often, so I make sure they’re involved pretty regularly.”
He tapped his pen against the notepad. “And what about you?”
She frowned. His stomach hurt a little with that movement of her mouth.
“What doyouwant, April?” he asked, tone even, his full attention on her.
The tea bag dunked up and down in her hand, once, then twice, before she let it sink to the bottom. Her brown eyes tried to look everywhere but at him. “What do you mean?”
Finally, her gaze met his, and with that movement he pinned her with his stare. How it worked? He did not know. But it seemed to help her escape the anxious energy she’d created in the space.
“I mean, what doyouwant?” he asked again.
Fingertips drumming on the counter, her eyes moved to the left. “Like right now?”
“Sure. Let’s start there.”
“To drink my tea on the porch and watch the trees turn color.” She laughed softly. “But that’s a little self-indulgent.”
Not really. They could probably talk about cookbooks while they were out there.
“And after that?” He pushed just a touch harder.
“I don’t know.”
She stared into space, but the look on her face implied that she clearly had an idea.
“What about long-term? What is that thing you want? Thethingyou feel deep inside you that you want more than anything?”
