Chapter 11
Mattie gave the spaghetti a stir and turned the heat down a tiny bit more to keep it from boiling over. She heard rustling and turned to see Blueberry trying to get under the cling film she’d covered the cake with. “Oh no, you don’t.”
Gunnar walked in wearing a blue-and-green plaid flannel shirt that fit him too well. It might have actually been a little snug on him, much like his jeans. Or maybe that was just what his muscles looked like in flannel and denim.
She stepped away from the pot, wondering if the heat was getting to her. “I was just stirring the noodles.”
“Thanks.” He went to another cabinet, took out dishes, and started to set the table.
She laughed. “I usually eat in front of the TV.”
He glanced at her. “So do I.”
She hugged her arms around her torso. “I think that’s a single person’s thing, huh? TV is company. And a way to unwind at the end of a long day. Although I suppose your days are probably longer than mine.”
He straightened. “I don’t know. I really have no idea what you do.”
“Tend to the bees, maintain the hives, keep my garden in good shape, harvest the honey, harvest the wax, make candles, deliver honey and candles …” She shrugged one shoulder. “Every day’s a little different.”
“My job is the same way. Today I had to deal with teenagers trying to graffiti the rocks by the falls.”
“Oh no. That wouldn’t be good. Did you stop them?”
“I did.”
Blueberry piped up. “I turned one of their spray cans into cake.”
Mattie cut her eyes at him. “Of course you did. Did you eat the cake?”
“No.” His lower lip came out in a pout. “Gunnar threw it away.”
“I didn’t think it was a good idea to leave it there for the raccoons. People still go up there at night. Last thing I need is someone getting scared by a raccoon and tumbling into the water.”
“Good point.”
Gunnar suddenly frowned. “I forgot to set a timer for the pasta.”
“It’s only been a few minutes.” She glanced up at the clock on his wall. “Maybe four?”
“Okay.” He got silverware out of a drawer.
“So what do you watch? On TV, I mean?”
He grunted noncommittedly. “Whatever. What about you?”
He’d make fun of her if she told him the truth, but she didn’t care. He already didn’t like her. “Right now, I’m bingeing the new season of Time Traveling Accountant.”
Gunnar stopped, forks in hand, and turned toward her. He narrowed his eyes at Blueberry. “You told her about that?”
Blueberry held his hands up. “I didn’t say anything.”
Gunnar looked at Mattie, a dark spark in his gaze. “If you’re trying to poke fun at me, I don’t care. It’s a good show, and I like it.”
She shook her head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I was telling you what I’ve been watching.”
“You watch TTA?”
“Um, yes.” She frowned at him. “Are you saying you watch it too?”
He went still a moment, like he was waiting for the punch line. “Yeah.”
She wasn’t sure she believed him. “Well, you know what Adrian Ledger always says …”
“The numbers never lie.”
She grinned. “You really do watch TTA. I freaking love that show.” That had to be proof she’d misjudged him. How bad could he be if he watched Time Traveling Accountant?
“Of course I watch it. It’s the best show on television right now.” He paused a moment. “You want to watch an episode while we eat?”
“I would love that.” The only thing that made a good show better was watching it with someone else who appreciated it.
“I was just about to start episode three.”
She nodded. “I’m like fifteen minutes into that one. I can easily rewatch the beginning.”
“Okay.” He smiled, changing his face completely. “That’s what we’ll do then.”
She felt her mouth come open, knew she was staring like a fool, but she couldn’t help herself. His smile was its own form of magic. It transformed his face. It lit up his eyes. It made him look … human.
Gorgeously human.
She snapped her jaw shut and reminded herself to breathe. She turned back to the pasta and gave it a stir, needing to do something besides stare at him. He’d think she wasn’t all there. Which was kind of how she was starting to feel.
She searched for something to talk about. “I guess you unwished your first wish about Blueberry vanishing?”
“I did. He was around, just like you said. He was sleeping on the back seat of my truck.”
“Hey,” Blueberry said, flying up to hover between them. “I’m right here, you know.”
“We know,” Mattie said. “We can see and hear you.” She glanced at Gunnar. “He sleeps pretty hard, especially after he’s eaten.”
“Which he had,” Gunnar said. “He wiped out my week’s allotment of protein bars and meat sticks that I keep in my truck.” His frown was back as he joined her by the stove. “I don’t know how something that small can eat so much.”
“It’s a gift,” Blueberry mumbled.
“It’s literally magic,” Mattie corrected. Gunnar was right next to her now. He smelled fresh, exactly like someone who’d just gotten out of the shower. She stepped to the side, out of his way, while he checked on the pasta.
He used the pasta fork to pull a few pieces out of the water, then snagged one and bit some off. “Another minute or two.”
Wasn’t long and they were sitting down to eat, he in his chair, she on the couch. He’d gotten them each a bottle of root beer. She’d set hers on the little round table that served as his coffee table, her plate of grated-cheese-covered spaghetti in her lap.
Blueberry was on the next cushion over with his own plate. Gunnar had laid a kitchen towel down under it all.
“Do not make a mess,” she said softly to Blueberry, giving him her most serious look.
He nodded.
Gunnar turned the big-screen TV on. It was bigger than hers. Probably newer, too. Besides the TV and the furniture, there wasn’t much else in the room. No photos. No knickknacks. Nothing that felt personal.
He went to the streaming service, found the show, and started Episode Three.
“‘The Viking Variance,’” Mattie said, reading the episode name off the screen. “You just know it’s going to be good.”
Gunnar nodded, smiling a bit as he wound spaghetti around his fork. “Who doesn’t love a little Viking saga?”
“You got that right.” She sat back and ate.
“I’ve got some Viking lineage.”
“Do you really? That’s cool.” Was she really doing this? Chatting with grumpy Gunnar in his living room, eating a meal he’d made, watching literally the best show ever, which he was also a fan of? That was crazy, wasn’t it?
And yet, it was already shaping up to be one of the best evenings she’d had in a while. Even Blueberry was behaving. And, she was pleased to see, being extra careful with his spaghetti.
Halfway through the episode, Gunnar paused the show to get them seconds, but she was full. She went in with him, taking her and Blueberry’s empty plates with her.
“Just put those in the dishwasher, if you would.”
“Sure.”
He hesitated in front of the pasta pot, glancing back at the cake she’d made.
“If you’re trying to decide how much room to save, I promise it’s good.”
“I don’t doubt you. I’ve never had honey cake before.”
“Really?” She unwrapped the cake, careful to peel the plastic off the buttercream, but it was still chilled enough that it didn’t stick. The sweet unmistakable aroma of honey wafted up. “If you like honey and you like cake, you’ll love it.”
He leaned closer, taking a sniff. “Who doesn’t like those things? Smells really good.”
She smiled tentatively, knowing their shared evening didn’t necessarily mean they were now best friends. But she still had to ask. “Would you say you like honey more than most?”
He put his plate in the dishwasher and got smaller ones out of the cabinet. “You mean because I’m a bear shifter?”
“Is it improper of me to ask that? I’m just generally curious.”
“No, it’s not improper. I probably do like honey more than most. Chet, my cousin who works at the nightclub, he’d probably trade his right arm for honey.”
“But you wouldn’t?”
“Not my right arm.” He grinned. “My left, now, that’s a different story.”
She laughed. Maybe they were friends if he was making jokes.
He held out a knife to her. “Your cake. You should cut it.”
“Okay.” She took it from him, their fingers brushing briefly, the warmth of him sending a ripple of awareness through her. She focused on the cake. She sliced it up, then gave him the biggest piece.
She pushed the plate toward him, then lifted another slice for herself.
He took the plate and set a clean fork on the edge. “That’s a lot of layers. I don’t know much about cake or baking, but more layers has to mean more work.”
She nodded. “It is. But more layers means thinner layers, and that’s really the best way to get each one soaked in the honey syrup.”
“Honey syrup?” His eyes widened. He picked up the fork and took a bite.
A sound hummed out of him that Mattie had never heard. Something that was half purr, half growl, and all pleasure. His eyes closed as he chewed. Finally, he swallowed, and his eyes opened. His gaze held something that looked very much like fear to her.
Fear? How in the name of Betty Crocker could cake make him afraid?
She watched him, her own thoughts swirling. Did he like it? Did he hate it? What was going on with him? When he stayed silent, she had to ask. “So? What do you think?”
He blinked, then shook his head and took a breath, the look in his eyes gone, replaced by something much more pedestrian. “I think … that might be the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”