He lets out a soft chuckle. “I hope you weren’t offering to just be nice, because I will never turn down a home-cooked meal.”
“I wasn’t, but just don’t set your sights too high. I like cooking, but that doesn’t mean I’m good at it.” I give him the address before hanging up, then I run around like a crazy person for five minutes, making sure everything is picked up before getting busy in the kitchen.
Less than twenty minutes later, my phone rings again. Not for the first time, I hope it isn’t Liv, which makes me feel guilty all over again, but I don’t have the time or the focus to talk to her right now.
When I see the now familiar number, I tap the answer icon then the speaker since my hands are full. “Hello?”
“Hey, I’m at the gate.”
“Oh crap, I forgot to call ahead and let them know.”
“They take security pretty seriously around here,” he mutters softly, but something about the way he says it makes me think he doesn’t really mean it.
“I’ll give you the code. It will be faster than walking over. Give me one second. Sorry about this,” I tell him while washing my hands. I rush over to my purse to dig through it for the little Post-it note I haven’t needed to use in days because unless it’s John, they just wave me through at this point.
I rattle off the code and listen while he recites it to whoever is at the guard shed. I can’t make out the muffled words spoken back to him, but Landry is clear when he replies, “I’ll make sure she knows,” in a flat tone.
“You make a left at the stop sign,” I tell him while peering out the front storm door just in time to see a black car turn into the driveway. “I’ll hang up now since you made it through security.”
I wait for him to say, “Okay,” before ending the call and sliding my phone into the pocket of my pants. I take a quick second to look down at myself. Thankfully, I hadn’t removed my bra yet for the day, though I would have had time to put it back on if I had. Instead of overthinking my clothing choice, I push the door open as he approaches the porch.
I get a little tongue-tied seeing him again, especially when the sun kisses his face, and I swear his blue eyes twinkle a little before he squints. “Hey, sorry again about that.”
“Don’t be sorry. It’s a good thing they know who is coming and going. I have to admit, though, I’m not used to being questioned.” He steps through the door, and I hurriedly take a step back to get out of his way. When I look up, expecting his eyes to be on the view beyond the living room or high up toward the ceiling, I’m surprised to find them still locked on me.
“Smells good.” His chest rises on a deep inhale.
For no reason other than my own thoughts and him complementing the smell of the food, my cheeks warm. I spin away, hopefully before he can notice, and say, “Thanks, it shouldn’t be too long.”
Once I’m behind the counter, I steal a quick look toward the short hall and find him removing his shoes near the door. “Oh, you don’t have to do that.” When he stands up, I can’t help but notice the change in his appearance from earlier. Gone are the dark pants and suit coat. He’s wearing jeans that fit without being too tight over his thighs, a seafoam green shirt, and a tan jacket that looks to be a soft canvas. His eyes are on the wall of windows at the back of the room, giving me plenty of time to observe him as he shrugs out of the lightweight jacket, revealing quite a bit of dark ink swirling up his arms. I didn’t expect that, not that I’m complaining.
My face heats again, this time for a very obvious reason. I pretend to focus on the sauce I’m making, so I don’t get caught checking him out.
“I have to say, I’m a little jealous.” He turns his attention to me. It’s not until that moment that I think about how perceptive he is, and if I don’t pull myself together, he will certainly know why I can’t seem to look at him without blushing.
“The view is pretty nice. I never thought I would like something so… open, but I was a goner as soon as I saw the listing pictures.”
“Can’t say I blame you. What are you making?” He meanders over slowly, as if he’s giving me time to adjust to him coming closer. I don’t know if that’s actually true, or if I just think it is, but I like it either way.
“Chicken shawarma. I can’t say it’s authentic,” I warn. “It’s just a recipe I found on Pinterest, but I like it.”
“And this?” He motions toward the counter.
“That’s bread I made earlier.”
“Today?” he questions, his eyes widening.
“Yeah, I’ve been trying to keep busy. It comes together fairly quickly.”
“How hard would it be to convince you to include this with dinner?”
I laugh softly. “Not very since my intent was for it to go with the chicken.”
He nods his head slowly then walks toward the entry door. For a split second, the irrational thought that he might leave plagues me, but I watch as he bends down and grabs a bag from the floor. I was too distracted by his presence to even notice he carried it in.
“Since I’m making out like a bandit here, I feel like it’s only fair to let you know you definitely could have bargained for more with the bread.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask what else I could have bargained for, but then he unzips his briefcase-like bag to pull out a manilla folder, then he places it on the counter between us. It forces me to remember why he’s really here, and it isn’t because he asked for my company.
