14. Take This Slow
TAKE THIS SLOW
“ C an you hand me the chicken?” she asked.
She was oddly touched by what Abe had just said to her. No one had ever encouraged her like that before.
Not true. Aster had.
Her brother always encouraged her to be the best she could.
“I didn’t know I had to help cook,” Abe said, bumping his hip into hers. “You should have said that.”
The fresh clean scent of him floated around with that movement. She didn’t think he put much on other than soap, but it was crisp and refreshing.
She’d take that any day over cologne on a man.
“Would you have told me not to come if I said you had to help?” she asked playfully. “Or would you have just come into my house and not worried that you might be tracking dirt?”
“I wouldn’t tell you no, that you couldn’t come. Just that I should have been given some notice,” he said, winking at her. He flexed his fingers out in front, then shook his head pretending to crack his neck. “Meal prep takes concentration and I’ve got to get in a good head space for it.”
“Now you’re being silly,” she said, swatting his arm. She wasn’t sure she would have expected this of him.
Not the man who didn’t say much in the casino after they’d gotten to the hotel room.
Heck, she hadn’t talked either.
She didn’t want to.
She didn’t want anything to stop what she was going to do.
“Maybe a little,” he said. “But I’m not the best cook. I could get performance anxiety and ruin something.”
She squinted one eye at him. “I don’t think you have it in you for that.”
“Not the way you might be thinking,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows. “Okay, what do you want me to help you with?”
“You can boil some water,” she said. “Think you can handle that?”
“That’s easy enough.” He walked over to a cabinet and opened it, pulled out a pot, then over to the sink and turned the hot water on. “What are you making?”
“It’s a creamy Cajun chicken dish. I like making things like this and it’s great for leftovers. Fast and easy too.”
“Sounds good to me,” he said.
“You can slice the peppers into strips and then the mushrooms if you like them.”
“I’m not a fan, but I can pick around them,” he said.
“Or we can leave them out,” she said. “I just grabbed everything I was going to use for the meal, but I can use these in something else.”
Nothing ever went to waste when it came to food.
Or anything in her life.
She worked too hard for what she had to throw it out.
She put the mushrooms back in the bag but pulled out the butter to cook the chicken.
“What kind of pan do you need for the chicken?” he asked.
“Just any big skillet you’ve got.”
He walked over and pulled one out that was plenty big enough.
She turned his stovetop on, put the butter in, and watched it melt while she coated the chicken breasts in Cajun seasoning and dropped them in to cook.
After a few minutes, she turned them and the water started to boil.
“Can I drop the pasta in?” he asked.
“Sure,” she said. “Did you add salt to the water?”
“Nope,” he said. “You didn’t instruct me to do that. This is your deal. I’m just your helper.”
She laughed and handed him the salt.
When the chicken looked about done enough, she grabbed the strips of peppers and dropped them into the pan too, and then poured in heavy cream and added the rest of the spices.
Abe kept an eye on the pasta. “You can take it out when it’s not quite finished. It will finish in this pan,” she said.
“This smells so good,” he said.
“I’ve made it a few times. It’s one of my favorites.”
She pulled the chicken breasts out, sliced them, and put them back into the sauce. Abe drained the pasta and she instructed him to dump it in the pan with everything else.
She stirred it all well and let it simmer for a few minutes.
“What do we do with the cheese?” he asked.
“Sprinkle it on when it’s on your plate,” she said.
“I’m getting plates now because I’m starving. This is like a meal my mother used to make for my father and me. We burned a lot of calories. Carbs and protein were the things for us.”
“I’m glad I could give you that tonight,” she said.
He set the table and then pulled out her lime seltzer from yesterday.
Within five minutes they were sitting down and eating.
“This is awesome,” he said, making a production about slurping up linguine.
“Thanks,” she said, smiling. “Glad you like it. I’ve got tons of recipes like this. When it’s cooler, I make hardy soups.”
“I love soup,” he said. “I don’t work as much in the winter. I’ve got a few plow trucks and keep busy with that more than anything or if someone has an issue on their property.”
“Do you lay your men off?” she asked.
“I do,” he said. “I hate it, but not much I can do about it. If I could figure out work to do all year round I would, but it’s hard in this climate. Most of my crew are college kids anyway, so it’s not a big deal. Some of the others like having the winter off and collecting unemployment.”
“Then it works out,” she said.
“I find in life that tends to happen more than we realize.”
She nodded her head and the two of them continued to eat.
The silence didn’t bother her, but it did feel a bit awkward once the fun meal creation was done.
He offered to clean up since she cooked, but they did it together.
When everything was put away, including the leftovers—she’d told him he could keep half and she’d bring home enough for another meal—she didn’t know what they should do.
Or what to even talk about.
“I’m so nervous again,” she said suddenly.
“Why?” he asked, turning to lean on the kitchen counter.
His legs were crossed, his arms too but not in a defensive stance. More like a curious one.
The tan shorts he was wearing were long and just about touching the top of his knees, his navy T-shirt had Cooke Landscaping in the right-hand corner and it was fitted to his body. She didn’t think he did that on purpose as much as he was in really good shape.
Her eyes moved down and his feet were bare. It was his house, it was summer. Why not?
Only it gave her ideas she didn’t like having in her head when she was trying to take this slow.
“Because I keep waiting to try to figure out the next step.”
He laughed. “Come here,” he said.
“What?”
“Come here,” he said again. “You’re nervous because you’re attracted to me. You’re waiting for me to make a move. Or I’m waiting for you to make one. We aren’t going to end up in bed. Even if you ask me, I’m going to say no. You might need to woo me now.”
She burst out laughing but went into his arms.
“I’m pretty positive if I asked you’d say yes.”
“Duh,” he said, “but you’re not going to ask and I’m going to tell you not to.”
He understood that about her. “Then why am I in your arms?”
“So that I can kiss you. Or you can kiss me. Maybe we say we kissed each other. I think you’ll relax more once you do that. Could be you can’t remember if I’m a good kisser or not and you’re nervous there too.”
“You’re a good kisser,” she said. “I remember that.”
Along with everything else that happened that night.
“You’re a fabulous kisser,” he said, lowering his mouth to hers.
Her arms went up around his neck and she let herself be taken over by her emotions again and told herself that it’d stop with a kiss.
Two hours later, it’d stopped after a lot of kissing but nothing more.
She’d stayed true to her word that she wouldn’t ask him, and then he wouldn’t have to say yes.
It was funny when she thought of it, but comforting to know that he got what was going through her mind.
When she arrived back home, it was still daylight out and she saw Poppy walking the kids on the driveway. She wondered if her boss went down to her house and noticed she was gone.
She waved and continued on. No way she was talking because she was positive Poppy would be able to sniff out the scent of a man on her, even if it was only from a hug.