Chapter 14 #2
His fingers move quickly, the knife flying at inhuman speed as he dices a red onion in small pieces.
Then he finally sets the knife down and wipes his hands on the towel again before looking up at me.
“You said so at the engagement party,” he says nonchalantly, as if remembering that fact would be so obvious.
My sister doesn’t even remember where I work or what my middle name is, but he remembers my favorite drink that I mentioned in passing two months ago?
“And you filed that away?”
He nods. “I did.”
“But you didn’t like me then.”
“Still not entirely sure I like you now,” he says, the words teasing and not at all serious despite how we started this relationship.
I roll my eyes. “I’m a delight to be around and you know it.” He smirks and plops the cerulean bowl between us. My stomach immediately grumbles. “And you made guacamole?”
“Seems fitting for spicy margaritas, no?” He pops a piece of tomato in his mouth and my eyes zero in on his lips and the way they move.
When they pull up in the corner and his dimple reappears, I clear my throat, break my stare, and lift the glass back to my mouth in the hopes that the icy drink will cool me down.
It doesn’t.
When I set the glass back down, I open my mouth to comment on the lack of chips just as he slides a bag next to the bowl.
“A true gentleman.” I watch—absolutely thrilled to see Reid in action—as he pulls out a pan and more ingredients.
Crunching on chips and guacamole, I finally ask, “What are you doing now?”
“Making tacos.”
“Why?”
“So you can eat,” he says.
He spins the pan in his hand and sets it on the stove. An absolute showoff. Sexy, but a show off.
“Why are you feeding me?”
He comes back to the counter in front of me and picks the knife back up, preparing to finely chop up lettuce.“Because you need to eat something. You haven’t eaten all day.”
I narrow my eyes on him. “How did you know I didn’t eat anything?”
He sighs and turns to me again. We’re so close I can see the dark blue ring around the pale blue of his irises. I’ve never noticed that before. His eyes almost look like an eclipse—a dark center with a bright silver middle fanning out into a blue. It’s mesmerizing.
“Because,” he begins, refocusing my attention on his words, “I was watching to see what your reaction would be when you finally tasted some of the food I prepared. Imagine my immense disappointment when you didn’t put a single bite of it in that pretty little mouth.”
I’m suddenly hyper aware of my mouth, my lips, what I might look like chewing if I take another bite of this stupidly delicious guacamole.
I lower it to my plate as an excuse to look away from his addicting gaze, but I can still feel his eyes on me, burning me.
I lift the margarita and down half of it.
I set it back on the counter and meet his gaze again.
When his eyes dart to my lips, that’s when I realize my tongue had darted out to catch the last droplets of margarita on it, completely of its own accord.
Dammit. He’s going to think I did that on purpose.
My face heats. My cheeks are hot. My neck is hot. My belly is hot.
“Like I said,” he murmurs, his voice low and gruff and sinful, “pretty. Little. Mouth.”
I need to change the subject to literally anything else. If he keeps talking to me like this, I have no idea what I’ll say or do next.
“Why—” I cut myself off to clear my throat. He smirks. “Why were you watching to see if I tried your food?”
He pushes back and resumes cutting the lettuce, blessedly giving me back my breathing room, but tragically taking that rosemary and lemon scent with him. And those blue eyes. And lips. And biceps.
Get it together, Jane.
“Because I was trying to impress you,” he says nonchalantly.
“Why?”
His hands pause, but he looks up at me. “Did you really not figure it out yet?”
“Figure what out?”
He looks back down, a nervous smile on his lips. When his eyes flick back up to me, butterflies swirl around my stomach at the intensity. I’m ready to push all the food off the counter and jump on it to kiss him. But I lock it up so I can hear what he has to say.
“That I have feelings for you.”
My heartbeat is so loud I’m not sure I heard him right, but the way he’s staring at me—a nervousness in his gaze and his breathing a little shallow—tells me that I did. The words are still processing in my brain, so all I can squeak out is, “I told you I was a delight to be around.”
He laughs, sweet and low and rich. My stomach tightens again.
“That you are, Jane.”
I watch, completely entranced, as he continues to cook, undoubtedly showing off every chef skill he has, rightfully so. He’s quiet for a moment, thoughtful. Then finally he breaks the silence. “Hey, Jane?”
The way my name falls from his lips has my heart hammering my chest again. When I meet his gaze, I find that he’s already staring at me with such earnestness that I find myself leaning closer to him.
“Yeah?” My god, my voice sounds breathless.
Reid doesn’t seem to notice. His eyes bounce between mine, drop to my lips, fly back up to my gaze. Then he finally says, “You were right. They were the best desserts I’ve had in my entire miserable life.”
A slow smile spreads across my face just as the warmth spreads through my entire body.
“I told you you’d love them.”
“This is where you tell me my food was also amazing.”
I shake my head. “No, I’m accepting this as winning. Nothing to hear from me.”
He laughs next to me and we, somehow, spend the rest of the night talking and laughing and enjoying each other’s company.
I’m convinced hell has frozen over when I leave his apartment around midnight with a warmth spreading in my chest and a smile still lingering on my lips—still shocked that the one person I hated to see a few months ago is suddenly the one I feel knows me the best.