Don’t think about it. She’d kept secrets, too, like that first amazing kiss on the boat.
When Walter Braedon pulled up in front of the townhouse, Flo rushed out the door, not even waiting for him to get out of the car and ring the bell.
Obviously, her mother thought Michaela would grill him like a dad sending his daughter off to the senior prom with a boy he’d never met. Michaela pulled aside the curtain on the long window beside the door and peeked out.
Good Lord, it was a limousine. And the handsome silver fox—Walter Braedon certainly qualified—climbed out and held the door open. He didn’t even let his driver do it. But he did hand Flo’s overnight case to the man, who put it in the limo’s trunk.
Then, oh my God, Walter Braedon kissed her. And it was no simple peck on the cheek.
All Michaela’s fevered mind could think was, Don’t let there be any tongue involved.
Okay, she was thinking like the prom queen’s dad.
Troy would be here in fifteen minutes. Michaela had dressed in leggings and a thin thigh-length sweater over a lacy camisole.
As well as lacy unmentionables. Which she had not told her mother about.
Michaela was no slouch when it came to cooking. Flo made all the meals now, since Michaela was working. But when Michaela was in middle school and high school, she’d prepared all the meals. Tonight, she’d made enchiladas from scratch, even guacamole, which was so much better than store-bought.
Troy arrived, wearing black jeans that hugged his magnificent tush and a tight long-sleeved T-shirt that showed off his pecs and washboard abs.
The man immediately blew all the air right out of her lungs. Michaela would have swooned if she’d been the swooning type.
He stepped inside, and when she thought he might kiss her, he merely bussed her on the cheek, even though she’d been hoping for more. He’d brought a bouquet of gorgeous red roses and a bottle of Cakebread chardonnay.
After she’d thanked him, he took in her simple townhome. She was almost embarrassed, considering how he must live.
The tiled foyer opened directly onto the living room. When they’d moved in, Michaela had purchased a sofa with a lounger on one end, which was her favorite spot. The two chairs flanking the other end of the sofa were mostly used only when they had guests. A built-in cabinet on the opposite wall held the TV, stereo system, and a few knickknacks.
Troy scanned the décor with a nod. “Very nice. And tastefully decorated.” Then, as she led him into the kitchen, he asked, “Your mom’s already gone up to the city?”
She grimaced. “That’s a story. I’ll tell you over dinner. It’s almost ready.” She’d laid two placemats and utensils on the table. “I hope you don’t mind eating in the kitchen nook. We don’t have a formal living room or dining room. It seemed like a waste of space for the two of us.” She felt as if she had to explain away what she’d always thought was perfect for her mom and her.
“I don’t mind at all,” he said, taking in the sunshine-yellow kitchen with its updated appliances and countertops. Since the cabinets had been in good condition, she’d kept them.
The timer dinged. “I’ll let the enchiladas rest for a couple of minutes.” When she removed the aluminum foil from the dish, the bubbling, lightly browned cheese was perfection.
“Anything I can do to help?”
He was so close and smelled so good, some all-male aftershave, that he made her a little jittery, and she decided to put him to work. “I’ll put the flowers in a vase if you’ll get the garlic bread out of the oven and put it in the basket. That would be great.”
As she fussed with the flowers, her thoughts immediately went to the meal—OMG, garlic bread. Stupid, stupid! She’d have to worry about garlic breath all night long.
But with two potholders and the tray in his hand, Troy bent to sniff the scented bread. “Delicious. I love homemade garlic bread.”
She shrugged. “I didn’t bake it, but I made the topping. And I added a bit of taco seasoning.”
He laughed. “You turned it into garlic ambrosia.” Then he pilfered a small end piece and tossed it in his mouth, making yummy noises as he chewed, his eyes on her.
Her breath wanted to explode out of her lungs all over again. Those sounds. That look. She couldn’t resist leaning close, swiping the other crust off the tray and popping it into her mouth.
Now they would both be garlicky. Maybe that’s what Troy had intended all along.
And maybe that meant he intended to kiss her at some point.
She wouldn’t be able to breathe properly until he did.
“Everything is perfection,” Troy said. Especially her. “I love enchiladas.”
