Chapter 13
Conditions deteriorating after deciding on a pilaf
Sunday afternoon grocery shopping is a social event for Kristen.
She flutters through the store, waving and smacking air kisses on the cheeks of women I don’t know. I overhear congratulations on her latest sale and compliments about her new manicure—vivacious pink, apparently, and not the half-price special version. Her breathy laugh floats down every aisle.
I huddle closer to the different varieties of rice for protection. As long as she doesn’t come down this aisle, I’m safe.
Extra nights working within arm’s reach of each other haven’t thawed the ice between us. Everything about me annoys her. She smiles and chirps sweetly when Sawyer’s around, but the second we’re alone, her claws come back out. Nothing I do is right.
It’s safe to assume that St Helens’ premier real estate agent loathes me.
I grab a packet of basmati, shuffle to the end of the aisle, peek around the corner—all clear—and scurry out from my hiding place.
Right into Kristen.
My sandals slip along the tiles, but I stay upright.
“Elsie.” Kristen flicks her ponytail off her shoulder. “Well, aren’t you just everywhere these days?”
“There’s only one grocery store in town,” I mumble.
Unfortunately.
It’s times like these that I wish I had splurged on a car. Even an old beater could splutter up the highway long enough to get me to the next town. It’s a Kristen-free zone in Binalong Bay.
She leans over my basket, and a cloud of vanilla body spray comes with her. “They pay you enough at the clinic to afford all that?”
My grip tightens on my basket. She must be referring to the tiny packet of saffron. It’s pricey, but worth it. “I’m cooking a pilaf,” I say.
“A…what?”
“It’s a rice dish. I learned to make it when I spent some time in Fez.”
“Fez?”
“It’s a city in Morocco.”
Kristen flings her head back to let out a laugh. “You? In Morocco? And making a pilaf? Okay. Now, I’ve heard everything.”
“I studied there for a semester—”
“Who cares? We don’t all need to have been to university to be special. Although I suppose it’s no wonder you wanted to sink your pale little fingers into Luke.” She rolls her eyes. “Another continental.”
“Do you mean intercontinental?”
Her gaze sharpens to a knife edge. “Are you correcting me?”
“Well, not exactly. I—”
“Please. Do us all a favor. Book a one-way ticket back to Fez.” She flicks her hand as if she’s banishing me into my shell and then flounces off.
“Uh… Bye?”
I shake my head and wander around the aisles, plucking the rest of the ingredients I need off the shelves. My mind refuses to budge from the constant prickle of annoyance that is Kristen.
I know she hates me, but the venom in her voice about Luke is almost as vicious as when she talks about me.
She doesn’t seem to appreciate travel. If Luke’s stories about his year running the pass in a restaurant in Northern Italy don’t excite her, what does?
I snicker into my shoulder. His penis, obviously.
I suppose it is big enough to overlook some of his flaws.
I pay for my groceries and step out of the AC and into the dry heat of the afternoon.
Sawyer is waiting for me, slouched against the brick wall, tossing a brown paper package from hand to hand. Probably his famous steaks. He bragged on the way over that he’s going to grill the best meat I’ve ever tasted.
He pushes off the wall when he sees me. “What have you got in there?” He crooks his finger over the edge of the grocery bag to pry it open, but I tug it out of reach before he can peek inside.
“Oh no, you don’t,” I say. “It’s a surprise.”
“I’m lookin’ forward to this secretive signature dish you’re makin’.” He holds up the thick parcel of meat. “How does it pair with lamb?”
“Perfectly.”
He falls into step beside me. “Cain said to stop by his place in about an hour. Is that enough—”
A sudden collision knocks him sideways.
Kristen squeals. “O-oh…” Her hand shakes as she steadies it on Sawyer’s chest. The impact must have given her a fright. Her breaths are ragged. “S-sorry.”
“No harm done.” He sidesteps her. “Hey, Hosko—”
“You.” Kristen’s smile vanishes, and she narrows her eyes on me. “Again.”
Sawyer’s palm finds the hollow of my back, and he wedges his body closer. He’s my shield. “We’re gettin’ a few things sorted before headin’ to Cain’s for the cookout. You stoppin’ by?”
Kristen sticks her nose in the air. “Is she?”
Sawyer’s palm on my back becomes a tentative stroke, just his finger, soothing down the middle of my spine. My pulse races as I glance up at him, and I wonder if he notices my shiver. Does he know he’s doing that? I want to arch my back like a cat and let him pet me all over with those big hands.
“Elsie’s invited just like everyone else helpin’ out with the festival.”
“That’s so great.”
“Stop by after six if you’re comin’.”
“Oh, I’ll be coming.” Kristen spins on her heel. “I can’t wait to taste the pilaf!” she calls over her shoulder as she marches off.
Sawyer looks down at me with wary eyes. “You’re makin’ a pilaf?”
I nod.
This confirmation does nothing to decrease his suspicion. “Does it have raisins in it?”
I hide the grocery bag behind my back. “Tell me why you’re asking before I answer.”
“My nan used to make a curry with raisins in it.” He winces. “It wasn’t…great…”
“It sounds like something my grandma might’ve made from her Busy Woman’s cookbook. Lots of packet mixes?”
“Nan’s got French onion soup mix stockpiled to last her through the rapture.”
I laugh. “I promise you this dish won’t taste anything like your nan’s curry.”
“I’m holdin’ you to that promise.”
“And if all else fails, you can pick out the raisins.”
Back at his place, Sawyer rummages in the bottom of his crisper. “I was sure I had one…”
I tear my eyes away from the pot bubbling on the stove to peer over my shoulder. “What are you hunting for down there?”
“A bell pepper.”
“For?”
“You’ve inspired me. I want to pair somethin’ with your pilaf. How do lamb kabobs sound?”
“Yummy.”
“Damn straight they are.”
His enthusiasm is unexpected. “You enjoy cooking?”
“I won’t claim I’m a great cook, but I know enough to get by. I’m better on the grill.”
“I’m surprised you chose lamb.”
“As opposed to?”
I shrug. “Seafood? You are a fisherman.”
“Not many fish on my trawler.”
“Lobster…man?”
“Yeah.” He nods. “I don’t eat ’em, though.”
“Too sentimental?”
“Aw, maybe a bit. Ask me again after one of the little bastards pinches me, though.”
Vegetables drop onto the countertop beside the stove. The bottom cabinets snap open and closed.
“Where the hell did I put the choppin’ board?” Sawyer mutters.
“Oh, I saw it—”
I turn too quickly and collide with a black cotton T-shirt.
Sawyer’s hand falls to my waist, and he grips my cardigan to steady himself, but the jolt of our bodies crashing into each other wedges me in the corner.
Wood pins me from behind, and in front there’s…
Oh… A wall of man is there. I take a deep breath in. Ocean. Cologne. He’s so close.
“You’re bumping into everyone today,” I whisper into his chest.
“Seems like it.”
His thumb digs deeper into my waist. Is he inching me closer? Getting me right where he wants me?
“I like bumpin’ into you best of all, Elsie Hoskins.”
The heat of him melts against me, and there’s a flutter on my cheek. Minty breath. He definitely wasn’t that close a second ago.
He’s going to kiss me.
My fingers twitch by my side, fighting the urge to cradle the back of his head and let my fingers disappear in his hair.
I’m desperate for his lips to be on mine.
I want to taste him. Everywhere. His gaze locks on my mouth, and so help me God, I know exactly what I’m doing when I dart my tongue out to wet my lips.
His breath hitches.
Did I push him too far? I can’t help it. Now that I’ve felt his body pressed against me, I can’t possibly let him stop there. I want more.
Hazel eyes lift, wide, but the moment our gazes lock, the invisible thread pulling us closer snaps.
“I better…” His cheeks puff out as he exhales. “That choppin’ board…”
“O-oh. Yes.” Flustered, I smooth my hair even though the side braid still hangs neatly over my shoulder. My fingers still tremble as I skitter back to the stove, fumble over the countertop to find the wooden spoon, and shove it back into the pot.
Stirring frantically, boiling water sloshing everywhere, I glance over my shoulder at Sawyer. My face is on fire. I only see his back. He braces both hands on the countertop, and his shoulders rise and fall as he sucks down air as if he sprinted halfway across town.
This—whatever this brief moment was—wasn’t meant to happen.