One thing about Marlee? She was a toucher. Always had been. So it wasn’t a shock to him when she dropped her hand against his and pulled her calves underneath herself. No, that wasn’t the shock. The shock was that he liked how at ease she was with him. How her hand felt on him. It was one of those endearing Marlee things that helped make her everyone’s friend. Everyone loved Marlee. He wasn’t that kind of person. He had his friends, but he didn’t have the gravitational pull of Marlee.
It’s not that he was standoffish. But he wasn’t obtuse. He worked out a lot of frustration at the gym. He was six-foot-four, and the amount of space he took up—he’d been told—could sometimes be interpreted as intimidating. Hell, Sadie had told him just that morning she needed to use him as their bouncer if Scotty did anything stupid.
“Let’s do this,” Kellie suggested. “Finish packing up the basics, grab breakfast, and figure out what comes next.”
“When’s the last time you ate?” Eli asked Marlee as gently as he could. He may not be able to swing a hotel room, but he did have the skill set required to whip up a decent meal. “You know what? Never mind. Don’t answer that. I’ll make breakfast.”
“Awesome.” Kellie held out her knuckles for a fist bump.
He met it.
Becca started taping together boxes. “It’ll be just like when we were kids.”
His gut twinged at the thought. Not that he’d minded helping his parents out when he was a teenager—he was the oldest and, in their family, that meant it came with the territory—but his mom had gotten sick, and his dad had worked crazy hours, and that meant Eli had taken care of his four little sisters and, by default, their friends. The stress of that year still raised his blood pressure, and he’d sworn he would never repeat it. Would never put himself in another situation where he was solely responsible for anyone’s well-being.
“Marlee, you should help Eli.” Becca was already headed upstairs with Sadie. “And by help, I mean you should do nothing and let us all take care of you.”
“I’m not going to let you guys do it all.” Marlee started to stand.
Eli caught her hand and pulled her back to the couch. “We’ve got our orders.”
“I’d like pancakes.” Kellie followed Becca up the stairs. “Pancakes are my favorite.”
Eli headed to the kitchen and pulled open the Sub-Zero refrigerator that blended in with her maple cabinets. He drooled only a little at the brands and the luxury of Marlee’s appliances. The La Cornue range just begged to be fired up. Petted. Appreciated for the work of art it was. As a professional, a kitchen like this practically made his fingers itch to bake something.
But he wasn’t there to eye-fuck her appliances. He stuck his head in the door of the fridge and paused. One jar of pickles. Two tablespoons of ketchup left in a plastic squeeze bottle. A couple of Styrofoam takeout boxes.
This was like the biggest middle finger to a brilliant appliance that he’d ever seen.
“We usually order in, it’s just easier,” Marlee said from behind him.
He glanced over his shoulder to where she peered into the refrigerator, her palm resting against his upper back.
He denied his body’s desire to lean into her hand. To dive into the perpetual kindness in her eyes, the soft look she got when her gaze focused on his, the way her little touches didn’t bother him—when they would have from anyone else.
His attention turned back to the pickles and away from her continual touch. This would absolutely not work. Channel Ten News had called him a genius in the kitchen. A master of turning nothing into something. One of the national cooking shows had even approached him about doing one of their segments that relied on a chef being able to turn a pot of coffee, whipping cream, and a pork loin into a three-course meal.
He could not, however, turn a jar of pickles—he reached for it and turned it over in his palm—nix that, a jar of expired pickles, into a breakfast worthy of Kellie’s fist bump.
“We’re going out to find ingredients.” He stood, closed the door, and set the jar on the countertop next to the stainless-steel sink. “Then, as part of your getting over Scotty, I’m going to teach you to cook.”
“I’m already over Scotty,” Marlee insisted, but the light didn’t quite reach her eyes.
He didn’t buy it. He gave her a look that, he hoped, broadcasted just that.
“There’s a King Soopers just around the corner.” Marlee moved to let Lothario back into the house. “We can hit that for supplies. And I am over Scotty.” Her voice cracked a little at the end. She cleared her throat.
He leveled a you’re-full-of-it stare at her.
“Fine. It’s a work in progress.” She tilted her head to the side, daring him to question her any further.
He wouldn’t, because unlike her ex, he wasn’t a dick about things.
Lothario trotted beside her to the front door. “Are you driving or am I?”
“I’ll drive.” He already had the keys to his Jeep Cherokee in his hand.
“Perfect.” She turned the door handle and pulled it open. Lothario began to follow her outside.
Eli scratched at his ear in confusion. “Mar, you’re you, and I know you can convince people to look away from most anything”—it was part of that talent she held that drew people to her—“but even you can’t bring a dog into the grocery store.”
He wasn’t besties with the health inspector, but he knew the rules—no pets.
Marlee rolled her eyes. “Lothario goes where I go.” She pulled a red vest from her purse and Velcro’d it around the mutt. “He’s my medical alert dog.”
Eli had seen a lot of things. He’d never in his life seen a medical alert vest on a chihuahua. He shook the dust bunnies that seemed to settle in his ears.
She wasn’t serious. No way was she serious.
“A medical alert dog?” he questioned.
“Well, he’s not just pretty.” She smiled down at the pup. “Although, he is definitely a pretty doggie.”
Lothario puffed up at the compliment.
“Are you just making this up?” he asked. Marlee was one of those people who could convince a man to pay an extra ten dollars for a bottle of water when he wasn’t even thirsty.
“Of course not. I have asthma, he lets me know if I’m about to have an attack.” She made kissy faces at Lothario. “Don’t you?”
Eli wasn’t buying it. She was screwing with him. “Does it work?”
“Yeah, he does his job really well.” Marlee clipped a leash onto Lothario’s collar and stood. “He’s trained to tell me if I start wheezing.”
Eli wasn’t mistaken. She was definitely screwing with him. “You don’t notice if you’re wheezing?”
“Not when I’m asleep.”
Then Scotty didn’t notice she was wheezing? The guy was losing punches left and right on his fiancé card.
One thing though. Eli held up an index finger. “So you can train the dog to alert you when you can’t breathe, but you can’t get him to stop defiling shoes?”
“It’s only your shoes,” Marlee said like it wasn’t a big deal. “He also likes Scotty’s shirts.” She took a deep breath. “And pretty much anything that moves. Especially bicycles… Hence the leg. That’s a touchy subject, though, so we don’t talk about it around him.”
Of course, because Lothario was a super smart wheezing-detection device. One wouldn’t want to offend him.
“A bicycle? And it was moving?” Eli raised his eyebrows in her direction. His own dick retreated into his boxers at the idea.
Not that he hadn’t noticed the cast on the little dude’s leg. He’d just assumed it had come from getting caught on the wrong side of a pair of Sketchers. Not the rubber on a bicycle tire.
“But he won’t do that when his vest is on. He knows he’s working now,” Marlee assured, setting Lothario beside her. He stood at attention as if illustrating her point.
Eli, and his shoes, didn’t buy the innocent act of the chihuahua.
“Why don’t you leave his vest on all the time then?” That’s what Eli would do—out of respect for his shoes, sweaters, and non-motorized transportation, if nothing else.
“He deserves a break sometimes.” Marlee opened the door and headed outside. “No one wants to work all the time. You understand that.”
Of course, he did. Eli could use a break, too, come to think of it. “He’ll only tell you if you’re wheezing when he’s wearing the shirt thing?”
“That’d be ridiculous. He’ll always tell me, but he knows he has to behave like a professional when he’s in uniform.”
“How much does one of these dogs cost?” Eli asked, pulling the door shut behind them.
She lifted a shoulder. “Not much, around sixty.”
Sixty? The gears in Eli’s mind cranked.
He stared at her blankly. “Sixty thousand?”
Yeah, definitely, the ridiculous part of the dog was that he only stopped defiling things when he wore his vest—not the fact she’d dropped enough on him to buy a new car.
“Training is expensive.” There was that duh voice again. “Are we grabbing stuff for breakfast or what?”
Definitely grabbing stuff for breakfast. And apparently, taking along the dog.
Chapter Three
Marlee had spent many Saturday mornings with Eli and Sadie and their family. She was very familiar with teenaged Eli’s pancake-making skills, and over the years, he’d clearly honed them further.
After a quick trip to the market, Eli had all they needed to make breakfast. Her bedroom was nearly all boxed up, and she was now being fed by the man Denver’s 5280 magazine called “the most up-and-coming chef of his generation.”
Except he was making her help.
And Marlee didn’t cook.
Like, at all.
She preferred to use the telephone to call for takeout. The kitchen at the townhouse was more for show than function. Her interior decorator had never really understood that. She totally earned her commission, though, because the flinger thing Marlee found in the drawer was really cute. The handle had adorable yellow sunflowers—Marlee’s favorite.
“Mar?” Eli asked.
She glanced toward him and raised her eyebrows. “Yeah?”
He pointedly moved his gaze to the skillet in front of her. The bubbles on the pancake burst through the batter, starting at the edge and moving toward the center.
“On it.” She focused. Waiting.
Eli’s instructions were to wait until the batter bubbled in the center and then she should flip it. That was way easier said than done. So far, she’d burned two batches by not flipping quickly enough and she’d flopped batter everywhere once. He’d said she flipped too soon. Clearly, by the batter splatters all over the stovetop. Meanwhile, he cracked eggs into a pan and fried up bacon like it was the easiest thing in the world.
She happened to know it wasn’t. He had tried to teach her to cook eggs and bacon first, but there had been shells in her scrambled eggs and the whole batch had stuck to the non-stick coating. The bacon wasn’t quite done when she’d pulled it off the burner. Apparently, bacon was not like steak where rare was a good thing.
Eli slipped behind her, close enough that it felt really nice.
She stilled. What was she supposed to do with his proximity? The bridal etiquette books said nothing about jilted brides and the appropriate amount of time before they could find comfort in another man’s presence. Was this one of the stages of a breakup? She had no idea, but two hours likely wasn’t long enough. She was barely single. The ink on her not-a-divorce wasn’t even dry.
This was ridiculous. Eli watching from behind was fine. He wasn’t touching her or anything. She turned her attention to the pancake.
His fingers curled around hers on the spatula.
Well, hell. Her heart beating faster and all the little nerve endings in her skin perking up only happened because Scotty hadn’t really touched her in weeks. Not since he’d moved downstairs.
“Now,” Eli said into the air around her earlobe. It felt intimate and right when it was absolutely wrong.
He used her hand to slip the yellow flinger part of the spatula under the batter. Her shoulders hunched, her chin dipped, and Eli was all about control of the flipping.
“It’s all in the wrist,” he continued on like he wasn’t turning her into a puddle of pancake batter that Lothario would have to lick off the floor. “Relax your wrist.”
She gave relaxing her wrist her best effort. With Eli’s help, they flipped the golden-brown, perfect pancake.
“I did it.” She turned around and froze.
Their hands still held the spatula and the pancake continued to cook behind her, but Eli was right there. Right in her space. And he was cooking for her. And teaching her how to cook. And her stomach was fluttering. And her bottom lip felt full. And he had the smallest splatter of batter on his cheek from when she’d flipped and then flopped before.
She wiped the batter off with the edge of her thumb.
He stepped back, clearly startled.
“Sorry.” She held up her hand. The one with the batter splatter.
He massaged his jaw with his palm and fingertips, apparently testing for additional splatterage.
“I got it all,” Marlee assured him.
“Uh.” Eli handed over the spatula, an odd expression on his face. “Pancake’s done.”
“Yeah.” Marlee moved the pancake to a plate, only creating the tiniest of rips in the process. “I did it.” She waved the flinging part of the spatula, whacking Eli in the nose. “Oh my gosh.” She dropped the spatula. It hit the tile with a clank.
Eli held his nose. “I’m fine. Just an accident.”
Marlee bent to grab the utensil, ready to crawl into the empty pantry and pretend to search for…whatever else went into making breakfast. She grabbed the spatula and stood, bonking her head right on the oven handle. “Ow.”
She rubbed at the spot, the kitchen tilting a little.
Eli steadied her, his hands on either side of her shoulders. “Maybe you should eat something. Before you give one of us a concussion.”
“Yeah.” She pressed the sensitive spot at the top of her skull.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“I’m fine.” Her eyes met his, and darn it all, he really looked concerned. Which was nice. Nice to have someone look concerned. No one ever looked concerned about her. Not really. Not lately. The day was not a good one, for sure, but Eli was there for her—so little wins for the win.
“Grab a drink, go sit, and I’ll get you a plate.” Eli was already adding the slightly torn pancake to a plate and moving to the eggs. He handed it over, but she set it aside.
She hugged him. She couldn’t help it. “Thank you.”
Then something happened. Eli Howard hugged her back. And it wasn’t because she was crying and jilted, it wasn’t because she’d hit her head. Eli Howard hugged her back and she had no idea why, other than the fact that he was just a nice guy. “Anytime, Mar.”
“Leelee?” Scotty called from the foyer.
Was it her imagination or did Eli pull her tighter for just a split second?
“Leelee?” Scotty’s voice went a teensy bit higher. He’d apparently made it to the kitchen.
She pulled away from Eli and turned to face her ex. Her ex who looked like he was ready to bite Eli’s head off like a torn-up pancake.
Little wins were just not going to cut it today. She couldn’t open her lips to respond.
“Wow, you have company.” Scotty opened his eyes bigger in Marlee’s general direction. She knew his mannerisms, knew he wasn’t jazzed that Eli was making himself at home in their kitchen. Wasn’t happy that she’d splattered batter everywhere. Scotty liked his space to be a calm oasis.
Well, whatever.
“I didn’t realize you were having friends over.” He shifted his gaze toward her group of friends shuffling into the kitchen from the stairs.
“They’
re my friends, so…” She forked a bite of pancake and shoved it in her mouth.
He focused on her and only her, like he used to long ago. Long before they’d gotten so comfortable with each other. Dated. Fallen in love. Planned a wedding.
“I’ll get my bag and get out of here,” he said only to her.
He was getting his bag? She choked on the soft cake. A little kernel of hope grew in her chest that she wouldn’t have to be the one to leave after all.
“You’re moving out?” That would be fantastic. Her Gucci collection was so much happier with tons of breathing room in her walk-in closet instead of crammed together in a box. “That’s great that you’re leaving. I mean, not great that you’re leaving.” She took a breath. “It’s great that you’re being reasonable about this and letting me have the house.”
He didn’t say anything.
No one else said anything.
“You are leaving, right?”
“Maybe we should do this where there’s not an audience,” he said in response to her question, as though that were actually an answer.
“I think an audience is great.” Eli crossed his arms, sunflower-yellow spatula in hand. If anyone could pull off that look, he could. “Witnesses and all that.”
Marlee may not have been on her A-game all morning. Heck, she hadn’t even been on her D-game. But the way Eli held the spatula right then made her feel like she’d had mimosas with the pancakes instead of coffee. She was nearly positive that one could not get drunk off one bite of Eli’s pancakes.
“You’re moving out then?” Marlee asked again, the hope of before eroding away.
Scotty deeply exhaled through his nose. “I figured I’d take off for a little bit. We’ll both get our bearings before any more big decisions are made.”
Decisions like who got the house?
Eli made a noise that sounded like a half growl.
“You mean you don’t want to be in town when people start calling,” Marlee confirmed. He would leave that to her. Of course, he would. She’d always handled things like that.
Just the Tip of the Iceberg: Mile High Matched Books 1-3 Page 51