Chapter 12 #2
I raise both brows, and she takes her hand back, stepping back, her gaze shifting to the stove. Then to the chopped-up ingredients still sitting on a cutting board. Anywhere but at me.
“For the record, I’m a lighthouse keeper, not a recluse. And what the hell is a book boyfriend?”
Crimson flushes her neck and face.
And hell, if that doesn’t almost take out the last of my restraint.
She swallows before lifting her gaze to mine.
“It’s a fictional man, written by a woman, who is the perfect combination of protective, loving, handsome, and—” She spins back to the counter and picks up the knife, re-chopping the already finely chopped vegetables.
She clears her throat as her flush deepens.
“And?” I prompt, folding my arms and leaning a hip on the counter.
With a sigh, she drops the knife and imitates my stance. “Sexy. Swoony. A filthy-mouthed man who takes what he wants.”
She spits out the words so fast, almost as if she’s embarrassed. She grabs her neck with both hands, worrying her bottom lip. She is embarrassed.
I chuckle and lean forward. “You think I’m sexy, nighean bhrèagha?”
The old words slip out on their own accord with this woman. Something to analyze later.
“I—” Her look of surprise turns to a pouty glare.
My cock twitches.
It’s an effort to restrain the grin wanting out over my face. “Uh huh?”
She huffs, closing the space between us.
Fuck, this is going to be harder than I thought.
“What does it mean? Nighean bheag?” she asks.
I raise a hand, wanting to touch her like I’ve never wanted anything so badly before. Snagging a rogue lock of dark hair, I tuck it behind her ear and lean down until my lips all but brush the elegant tip of it. “It means... I’m hungry, Evie. Let me cook, instead.”
She jerks backward. “It does not.”
The sweetest scowl twists her face. If a man ever needed reason to bend a woman over a countertop and fuck that look off her face, that would be it. I want to be that man.
Christ’s sake, Callum.
Her brows lower further, not that I thought it would have been possible, as she says, “What? Your expression changed...”
Nope. No way is that last thought going public.
“I want to help. Please let me help?” I ask.
“Fine. Only because my stomach is eating itself, I’m so craptastically hungry.”
I crack up with the words that come out of her pretty fucking mouth. Lord save me.
Just another marker forcing me to recognize the age gap between us. But when she hands me her phone with the recipe on the screen, I get to work starting where she left off.
Twenty minutes later, we have a dinner better than anything we’ve shared since she arrived.
Evie sets the table as I bring the food over.
When she sits down, I wander to the counter and hunt through the bottom cupboards.
There’s a red in here somewhere. Pushing the whiskey aside, I find an old, dusty bottle of cabernet.
I slide it out and find two glasses. No wine glasses here.
These short tumblers will have to do. I tug the cork from the top and let a generous portion glug into her glass.
Evie looks up at me with the sweetest smile.
Maybe we shouldn’t add alcohol to this mix...
Hell. You know what they say about best-laid plans.
I return the bottle to the counter and fish out my whiskey. It’s been a while since I’ve had an occasion to bring it out. This seems good enough. I sit at the opposite end of the table. Evie leans over and lights the small cluster of candles in the center of the table I didn’t notice before.
“So, Iris invited you and I to Emmett’s birthday dinner,” I say.
Evie forks a bite into her mouth, not answering.
I shovel some food into my own, and it’s not half bad.
“What should I get him?” she finally asks. When my face remains blank, she adds, “You know, a birthday present. What does he like?”
“You want to buy Emmett a birthday present?”
“Isn’t that usually what you take to a birthday party? Gifts, wine, etc.?”
“He’s forty-four, you can skip the Tonka truck wrapped in Batman paper.”
She plucks up a vegetable and tosses it at me.
“Hey, that took me months to seed, tend to, and harvest. Don’t you go wasting, lassie.”
“Lassie! Well, that’s not condescending at all. Woof!” Her face is tight, but then it bursts like...
Like a cloud of startled butterflies, breaking into a fit of laughter.
Something low and heavy in my gut turns over, sending warmth to my chest. As if the single sound can wrap my wounded heart up and mend it.
I return the assault with a slice of carrot.
Evie flies out of her chair with a squeal, and I grab up a handful of broccoli, hunting her around the room. Hell, if I catch her, the last thing I’ll be thinking about is feeding her her greens.
Run, mo nighean.
She backs away toward the bookshelf, grabbing a title out, wielding it in front of her like a damn shield.
Like that will stop me.
“Please,” she rasps. “I’m sorry!”
Cackles have her folding over, the book dropping to the floor.
I’m on her in a heartbeat, taking her to the ground.
With her underneath me, I grab her wrists, pinning them to the floor above her head.
She bucks under me, fits of giggles bursting from those pretty damn lips. I straddle her, my knees by her hips.
“What was that, Evie? I didn’t hear you. You say something about wasting the hard-earned food I provide for you?” The words slip through a half smirk, half laugh.
Her giggles peter out when she realizes our position. “I’m sorry I wasted your food, Cal.”
Cal.
Not Callum.
Or Ass.
Just Cal.