“Why don’t you come in?” he asked.
She held her hands wide, then dropped them to her thighs, making a little smack sound. “I’m already in.”
“I meanmorein.”
Did she want to be more in? Okay, fine. Sure.
“Kitchen’s this way.” He did the come-on-ahead-if-you-dare gesture with his head again.
Given the scents of garlic and salmon and…was that chocolate? She definitely didn’t mind following him to the kitchen. The place smelled like a fancy restaurant she would have visited in her old life.
Where the living room was not-so-tidy, the kitchen was spotless. And while it may have smelled like a five-star restaurant, it felt like a home.
This space was comfortable and—
“I’m really sorry,” she said, again, forcing herself not to wring her hands. “For before. I…uh…didn’t mean to imply that I wanted anything other than nothing.”
“Well, now I know we agree. It’s nice. We can be friends,” he said, absolutely serious.
Her body seemed to make a “ha” sound all by itself. “You think we can be friends?”
“My daughter and yours are getting on like a house on fire—” He stopped. “Sorry, terrible choice of words.”
Em just nodded. “Maybe let’s not talk about flames?”
“No dodgy stuff, just two parents getting along for the sake of the kids.” This he said with a comfortable charm of a man who knew he was all that but didn’t flaunt it. “Girls are up the top playing in the makeup.”
Emmaline placed her palms on the counter, peeking over at whatever he had boiling on the stove. Looked like a raspberry sauce?
No.
Boundaries, Em, lots of boundaries.She demanded that her taste buds not salivate all over the man’s counter.
“Want to join us for dinner?” he asked.
Her taste buds screamed that was a fantastic idea, demanding her new-wannabe-friend feed her. But her brain reminded her that arm’s length was always the best choice with people like Ethan. And she should really work on practicing saying, “no, thank you.” Like Barbie.
The bubble of his attention span apparently cracked because he pulled the towel from over his shoulder and went straight to the sauce. “It’s nearly done.”
He pushed the pan to the back burner and clicked off the fire on the front.
“My friend,” Em said, just out of the blue when it popped into her head.
“What about your friend?”
“She’s at my house. We can’t stay for supper. We really have to go back.”
“Annie,” he called. “Fiona’s mum’s arrived. Come on down.”
The girls called down their reluctant reply.
Meanwhile, he snagged two spoons from the drawer beside the stove. The first he dipped into the sauce, blew on it, and gave it a taste. That spoon got tossed to the right in the sink with aclink.
The other? He repeated the movement, chatting about something Annie had said about raspberries that was cute, but all Emmaline could focus on was the way his lips moved as he spoke, blew on the sauce, and then lifted that spoon across the island between them right up to her mouth, pausing so it wouldn’t be weird because he was seriously cracking away at her personal space.
Was she supposed to take the spoon?
Or was she just supposed to let him feed her? They were friends and friends didn’t feed friends, right? She was nearly certain. Especially because they’d clarified oh so very well where they stood. She should probably take the spoon and—
