by Noelle Adams
“So we’ll eat at seven thirty. No big deal.”
I lean back against the counter, flustered and annoyed with myself. “I wanted to eat at seven. I had the whole thing laid out and ready to go. I’m usually good at things.”
“It looked damn good to me.”
“It’s not even cooked yet. I started reading and got distracted.”
“Typical.” He’s got that familiar teasing expression, like he’s smiling underneath a straight face.
“You’re laughing at me.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
I can’t help but giggle as I go to the refrigerator to pull out the bottle of chardonnay I bought to go with dinner. Since we have a lot of time to kill, we might as well start on it.
“You didn’t have to cook dinner for me,” Hunter says, digging a corkscrew out of a drawer.
“I know. But it’s something I’ve always wanted to do, so I figured this was a good chance to get started. But I don’t know if I’m going to be any good at it. It’s more work than fun.”
“So make something easier next time.”
“This was supposed to be easy. Oh well. I won’t give up yet.”
Hunter has opened the bottle of wine and pours it into the two glasses I set on the counter.
“How was work?” I ask after I take my first sip.
“It was fine.”
“Just fine?” I scoot into one of the stools at the kitchen bar.
Hunter sits beside me, putting his phone down on the counter. “It was fine. You know. A first day. I didn’t do that much, but folks were nice to me.”
“Good.”
He slants me a quick look. “Did your sister make this job up just for me?”
“What? No. She said they really were looking to expand their finance department. Why?”
“Because what I’m going to be doing is so easy that anyone could do it.” He straightens up. “I’m not complaining. I’m happy for anything. But it just made me wonder if she made it up just so I could have a job and gave me a bunch of busywork.”
“I don’t think so. I really don’t. She acted like it was going to be a real position. That’s why she wanted you to send over your old classwork—so she could make sure you’d be able to do the job. Does it not seem like stuff that needs to be done?”
He makes a face. “No. I guess it probably needs to be done. It’s just easy.”
I reach over to put a hand on his arm. He’s got his sleeves rolled partway up his forearm, so my palm rests halfway on fabric and halfway on his bare skin. “Do you think maybe it’s because you’re so good at it? Maybe it wouldn’t be so easy for other people. Didn’t you say you were really good at the financial stuff you worked on for... for...”
He gives a huff of ironic amusement. “For the car thieves?”
“Yeah. Isn’t it possible you’re just good at it? That it comes naturally to you? And the job isn’t really just a filler.”
“Maybe.” It seems like he’s really thinking about it now, and some of the tension in his shoulders has relaxed.
I relax too.
I ask him some more about work, and he asks about my classes and my attempts to cook. Before I know it, the timer on the oven goes off (which I set in case I lost track of time again), and I go to pull out the pan.
It smells good, but it doesn’t look the way it does in the pictures. The potatoes got broken up every time I went to toss them midcooking like I was supposed to, and the peppers just disintegrated, so now the vegetables all appear mashed together. The chicken looks okay, so I’m hoping it turned out right at least.
I’m nervous as we start eating and then disappointed when I try a chicken breast.
It’s supposed to be moist and succulent, but it’s dry.
I followed the recipe exactly. I didn’t mess up (except for the delay in putting it in the oven). I did everything I was supposed to do, but it still didn’t come out quite right.
“What?” Hunter says with his mouth full, evidently seeing something on my face. “It’s really good.”
“It’s dry.”
“Huh-uh.” He likes brown meat, so he took a leg and thigh. He cuts off a piece of the thigh, spears it with a fork, and extends it to me.
Since I’m obviously supposed to eat it, I lean over and pull it off with my lips and teeth.
“Oh,” I say as I chew. “The dark meat turned out better.”
He’s nodding and stuffing another bite in his mouth. “De-licious.”
I can’t help but giggle as he chows down. Maybe he’s hamming it up on purpose, but he does seem to like the food.
And the vegetables do taste good, even though they don’t look very neat.
I feel better as I finish eating, and I watch with fond amusement as Hunter eats everything on his plate and then fills it up again.
After a while, he notices me watching him. “What?”
“Are you really that hungry or are you just trying to make me feel better?”
“I was hungry, yeah. But it’s good.” He looks from his plate to my face. “You think I’m lyin’?”
“No. Not really. I guess it turned out okay. Not perfect, but not bad.”
He snorts as he takes another big bite. “Doesn’t have to be perfect. It’s the best meal I’ve eaten for years.” He meets my eyes. “Seriously. Years.”
Just for a moment, I’m afraid I might melt away in pure sappiness.
But no. I’m too smart for that.
No sappy melting for me.
HUNTER HELPS ME CLEAN up after we’ve finished eating, and as we’re finishing the dishes, he says, “Thanks for makin’ dinner.”
I blush slightly, for no good reason. Maybe just because of the raspy thickness of his voice. “You’re welcome. It was a decent first effort, I guess.”
“Definitely.” He pauses. “I’ve missed good meals like that.”
“I know. From your letters.”
“I never—”
“Hey, I can read between the lines too, you know. And I want you to have good meals now that you’re out.”
“Yeah?” His eyes are warmer, softer.
“Yeah.”
Then, before I know to expect it, he reaches out and takes a fistful of my shirt, using the grip to pull me closer to him.
I stare up at him in astonishment, too dazed to know what’s happening.
Not until he tilts his head down and presses his lips against mine.
It’s a light, gentle kiss. Nothing hot and heavy. But the brush of his lips against mine fires off thousands of nerve endings, all jolting down to my heart.
And then even lower.
I gasp against his mouth and reach up to cling to his shoulders.
He’s smiling as he pulls his head back.
“What are you doing?” I manage to say. My face is flushed, and my heart is hammering wildly.
“Kissin’ you.”
“I know that, but why?”
“I thought you were practicing being married.”
“I... I am.”
“Shouldn’t a husband kiss a wife after she cooks him dinner?”
“Maybe.” My fingers are clenched in his shirt, and I’m fighting the urge to just rip it off him so I can get to his bare skin.
“So what are you all uptight about?”
“I wasn’t expecting you to kiss me.”
“Didn’t you like it?”
God help me, I did.
I liked it so much that the sensations are still shuddering through me.
He smiles, like he’s pleased by what he sees in my face, and tilts his head down to kiss me again. This one is just as gentle, but it lasts longer. His mouth moves against mine for several seconds before I feel his tongue lightly licking the line of my lips.
The feel of it goes right to the building pressure between my legs. As he draws back, I follow his retreat, trying to claim his mouth again.
He chuckles softly as he turns me around and leans me back against the
counter. “You do like kissing me,” he murmurs, giving my bottom lip a little tug.
“I’m just... just practicing.” I’ve twined my arms around him now and am pressing my chest against his, trying to get some friction on my aching nipples.
He deepens the kiss as his hand slides down to cup my bottom over my jeans.
I’m starting to feel something else—something really good and hard at the front of his pants—when he abruptly takes a step back.
We stare at each other, both of us panting.
Then he says, “You just let me know when you need some more practice.”
He turns and walks away, and I assume he’s heading to his own room or to the bathroom.
I want to follow him. I almost do.
But I’m not really clueless, although I may occasionally act that way. And I might sometimes try to hide from it, but I know the truth that always exists at the core of our relationship.
He’s going to help me out in any way he can, and he might even enjoy doing so.
But if I’m not careful, it’s going to be like high school all over again.
I’ll be swooning over a man who can never return my feelings.
Because no matter what I say to Hunter in an effort to protect myself, he’s not practice to me.
TWO DAYS LATER, I’M trying to read a philosophical essay and sipping a glass of wine on the couch when Hunter gets home from work.
Maybe it sounds antisocial, but I kind of like that he works regular hours and he’s not hanging around the apartment all day.
We’ve been getting along well, and life is certainly more exciting when he is around, but I’m not sure how I’d be able to get my coursework done if I were constantly distracted by Hunter and his gruff voice and hot body.
As it is, I have the days to myself to do my normal thing, and it’s only in the mornings and evenings that it feels like every cell of my body comes alive.
It could be worse.
Hunter only owns one pair of good trousers and two dress shirts. He doesn’t have to wear a suit and tie to work, but he does need to look decent.
He looks more than decent as he walks in, his collar undone, his shirt slightly wrinkled, and his body exuding a familiar, Hunter-like scent. Masculine. Natural.
I like it a lot.
“I opened some wine,” I say, gesturing toward the granite bar that separates the kitchen area from the living room.
He pauses at the counter to pour himself a glass, and then he comes over to the couch. I bend my legs to give him room to sit down.
He slumps with a soft groan and closes his eyes.
“Bad day?” I ask, putting down my deadly dull essay—I wasn’t making much progress trudging through it anyway—and sitting up straighter.
“It was fine.”
“Then why does it look like you’ve been through a battle?”
He opens his eyes to slant me a look.
“Don’t give me that look. Did something happen today?”
“No. It’s fine. It’s all fine.”
“Chip is pretty easy to work for, isn’t he?”
“Yeah. He’s great.”
“And the other folks in your area are okay?”
“They’re fine. A few of them are kind of wary of me, but I can hardly blame them. It’s a good job. I appreciate it.”
“You don’t have to make everything sound good all the time. No job is all good. I know you appreciate the job. You can tell me the truth if something isn’t great about it.”
“It’s not the job.” He sounds almost resigned now, and he takes a few sips of wine. “It’s me.”
“What about you?”
He sighs and meets my eyes again. “I think I already blew it.”
“What? No, you didn’t. That’s ridiculous.”
Hunter just shakes his head and slumps down on the sofa, and I’m suddenly scared. Really scared.
“Hunter, what happened? Tell me. You said the work you were doing is really easy.”
“It is easy. It isn’t the work.”
“So what happened then?”
For a moment, his face twists with such reluctance I’m not sure if he’s even going to tell me. Then his whole body loosens, as if he’s let go of his resistance. “I was reviewing departmental budgets, and I found one that was overspending like crazy. Not intentionally but just because they were letting things slip through the cracks. So I took it to Chip, and he said I should go talk to the department manager. So I did.”
I’m sitting up very straight, and I’ve reached over to hold on to his forearm. “So what happened?”
“I talked to the lady. I tried to take it seriously and explain the problems and how to fix them. I was thinking it was just business and there were pretty easy ways to tighten it up. She just kept nodding like she understood, so I left.” He clears his throat and rubs his beard. “Then Chip comes to see me later and told me I made the lady cry.”
“What?” My voice squeaks on the one word.
“I made her cry. I scared her or upset or something. She thought I was mean. I made her cry.” He groans and covers his face with both hands, pulling away from where I was holding his arm.
“Oh no, Hunter! Why did she cry? Was it really that bad?”
“I don’t think so. I keep trying to remember what I said, and I’m sure I didn’t say anything mean to her. I was just trying to take care of business. I guess I suck at this.”
He looks so wounded that I can’t stand it. I reach over and give him a soft hug. “You do not suck at this. You’re doing great overall. Women are sometimes really sensitive, and they’ll misread gruffness as meanness.” I pause. “Does she know you were in prison?”
He’s reached up to hold on to one of my arms, as if he’s trying to keep it there. “Probably. Word’s gotten around.”
“So what happened was probably that she was nervous about you to begin with. You’re so big, and you have that beard, and with your sleeves rolled up she could see the tattoo on your arm, and she knows you were in prison. She was intimidated by you to begin with. Then you came to talk to her about something she did wrong, so she was already on the defensive. And I bet you didn’t smile at her or anything.”
“No.” He’s frowning thoughtfully, like he’s thinking back. “I thought I was polite, but I was kind of nervous about it too. I was tryin’ to do a good job.”
I tighten my arms around him. “I know you were. But she doesn’t know you. She doesn’t know how sweet you are beneath it all.”
“I’m not sweet,” he mutters, leaning his head toward mine.
I press a kiss against his jaw, unable to stop myself. “Yes, you are. But she doesn’t know it. So she read your gruffness as meanness.”
He suddenly pulls me into his lap, putting his arms around me. I adjust to the new position immediately, loving the way he seems to need me right now.
“So what happened?” I ask.
“I went to apologize to her right away. I think we worked it out. At least she said it was okay. Damn it. What the hell is wrong with me?”
“Nothing is wrong with you. You’re getting used to working again, to the business world. Nothing is wrong with you. Did Chip seem mad?”
“I don’t think so. He was kind of laughing about it at the end of the day and said he made the same woman cry once too. But still... what if it happens again?”
“Just make sure it doesn’t happen again. Make sure you smile when you talk to people you don’t know. No one has a smile like you do. People will like you.”
“Yeah right.”
“They will. Everyone loved you in high school. You were so popular.”
“I was different then.”
“Not all that different.”
“I was... I was always trying to get people to like me back then. I don’t care about all that anymore.”
“Well, you do care about your job, so you can do just enough to get by without making anyone else cry. Hunter, you didn’t blow it.
You’ve just forgotten how to do all the social stuff. It will come back to you. Give it time. And in the meantime, make sure you smile a little.”
He is smiling now—just a little one at the corners of his mouth. His blue eyes are very soft.
“You never think I’m being mean, do you?” he murmurs.
I lean my head against his shoulder, enjoying the unusual feeling of being small and cradled in his lap. I’m not actually a small person, so this doesn’t happen to me often. “No, I never think you’re mean.”
“Good.”
“Just bossy sometimes.”
“Only when necessary.”
I laugh. “But I know you. I know you really well. People who don’t know you like I do might not see what I see in you.”
“And what do you see?”
I can’t answer with the full truth. There’s no way I can do that. So I give him part of the truth. “I see a really good man.”
I feel his body relaxing under mine. He feels better. I know it. I’m ridiculously proud of being able to help him this way.
After a few minutes, he asks, “How was your day?”
“Fine. Class was boring, and then I went to the library to do some research. That’s about it.” He doesn’t seem like he wants to move anytime soon, so I stay in place on his lap. I’m really liking it there.
“We’ve got to get you some more excitement in your life.”
“I don’t need excitement every day.”
“Why not?”
“Because. Life isn’t always exciting. You’ve just been to work. You didn’t have any excitement today, did you? I mean, other than making a poor lady cry.” I raise my head so I can look at his face.
“No,” he admits. “That was my only excitement. But the day isn’t over yet.”
Oh God. His eyes. They’re smoldering in that way that melts me. We haven’t kissed at all since Monday night, but I know what he’s thinking about right now.
I’m thinking about it too.
“You had a hard day,” I manage to say. “You’re not going to want to exert the colossal effort it will take to get me... excited.”
I can’t believe I’m actually saying that.
His eyes get even hotter. “I don’t think it’s gonna take all that much effort.”