Page 35 of A Simple Love

“Enough to share.”

I froze. “Really?”

“Yes. I was just getting some cilantro.”

“I would love to have you for—I mean, dinner with you.” I grinned widely at her with a wink.

“And I will add inappropriate to that irritating comment earlier,” she sniffed haughtily, turning and heading to her door.

I followed her, the obedient dog I was, eager for dinner. More time with her.

“Just being honest,” I insisted. “You said you liked honesty. And that was the most delicious pie I’ve ever had. And that mouth of⁠—”

She whirled around, her eyes no longer soft. She glared at me. “Keep it to yourself. And no flirting, funny stuff, or innuendos, Oliver Wendall Hart. You hear me?”

She was gorgeous when she was annoyed. Her eyes flashed emerald, her cheeks rosy, and her voice lower than normal. Fucking sex on legs. But I knew when not to push. I widened my eyes in mock fear. “Oh, full name. No flirting, funny stuff, or teasing. Got it.”

“Good.” She turned to head to the door, but I caught it. A glimmer of a smile on her face. A smile she was trying to hide.

But I saw it.

And I could work with that.

13

OLIVER

Igroaned around a mouthful of the casserole I was eating. “God, this is good, Kassie.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

I eyed the pan between us on the table. “You always make such big meals?”

She laughed, shaking her head and taking a sip of water. “No, but this recipe makes an enormous batch. I freeze it in portions. I do that a lot. It’s no fun cooking for one. I have soups, casseroles, pasta dishes in the freezer, so all I have to do is heat something up after I defrost it.”

“I appreciate you sharing with me.” I ate another few mouthfuls of the casserole, the chicken and cheese sauce oozing from the tortilla layers. I copied Kassie and added salsa on top, plus some jalapeños she had chopped up, the spicy flavor hitting my tongue with every mouthful. She had always liked spicy food. It was another thing we had in common.

“So you cook all your meals?”

“No, I like a takeout every so often. And I have lunch at least once a week with Quinn or Laura, so I eat my main meal then and have cheese and crackers those nights. Sometimes a sandwich.”

I found myself craving more details from her. To get to know her again. “What’s your favorite takeout?”

She looked at me as if I was crazy. “The Wong Man.”

I sat back, surprised. “He’s still here?”

She nodded.

I recalled driving that way, and I frowned. “But all those buildings are gone.”

“He moved to Smythe Street. A nicer, newer location. His son runs the place now. Still the best and busiest restaurant around.”

I searched my memories. “Joe, right?”

She smirked. “No, Joe Wong.”

I chuckled. It had been one of Joe’s running jokes. And the restaurant was called Wong’s Inn, but he’d always referred to his dad as “the Wong man,” and it stuck. Even his dad answered the phone, “Wong Man, what you want to order?” It was legendary. And the food was phenomenal.