Miss Fix-It

I had no idea what I was doing with my life.

Brantley set a plate in front of me, and I murmured a “thank you” as he took his seat.

What were we going to talk about?

Did we have anything in common? I doubted he enjoyed Friends re-runs as enthusiastically as I did, and there wasn’t a chance in hell I’d be drawn into a conversation about sports. The last sports I watched was when I was a senior in high school, and that was only because I had a crush on the running back on our team.

Sidenote: showing up in short-shorts totally worked.

All that said, relief flooded through me when Brantley began to eat in silence. I followed suit, digging into the delicious, creamy, cheesy pasta dish in front of me.

Amazing. He burned pasta, yet cooked the sauce.

My mind boggled.

The minutes ticked by. Had Jayda been right? Was it just company he wanted? If so… I mean, this was better than anything I had the patience to cook. I’d be his dinner friend any day if he’d feed me like this.

I was almost done eating when he put down his fork and sipped at his wine.

“I’m sorry if I made things awkward when I kissed you yesterday.”

Chapter Seventeen

I almost choked on my food. I grabbed my wine and washed it down, thankfully without giving into the urge to spit it everywhere.

That came out of nowhere.

“I’m sorry if I made it awkward apologizing for making it awkward,” he added, lips twitching as he gazed over at me.

“Nope. You’re good. Just surprised me, that’s all.” I took another mouthful of wine, swilling it around before I swallowed it. “Not awkward. I mean, a little, but mostly because it’s against the rules. No company-client relations. You know?”

He nodded. “Like I said, I’m sorry. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing. It won’t happen again.”

Oh.

Why did that suck?

Goddamn it, it didn’t suck. That was absolutely the right choice. It couldn’t happen again. No way.

“Right. Of course. You know you didn’t have to invite me for dinner just to say that, right?”

“I know. It happened to work in my favor. I’ll never get the hang of cooking the right amount of pasta.” He frowned. “I don’t know how people do it.”

“My mom is one of those weirdos. Like, she just knows how much pasta to cook. I generally cook enough for a small army.”

Brantley waved his hand. “Speak for yourself. I think I have enough for lunch tomorrow, too.”

I laughed, resting my forearm on the table. I nudged my plate aside so I had room to cup my wine glass in front of me. “Just let the twins eat it.”

“They’re at daycare tomorrow. Do you have any idea how amazing it’ll be to have a day to myself?”

“Really? You mean I can paint without chaos?”

His smile reached his eyes. “You can paint without chaos,” he confirmed. “I might bug you if I get bored, but I promise not to screw up the walls.”

“If you come and bug me, I’ll be handing you a roller and telling you to start painting.”

“I can do that.” He tapped his fingers against the table. “After I’ve been to the store and had my ankles ripped to shreds.”

“I don’t know why we still shop there. There’s a Target half an hour away.”

“That’s the problem. Target is half an hour away. Irma’s is five minutes for anyone in town.”

Sighing, I propped my chin up on my hand. “And you won’t get the local gossip at Target.”

“Small towns,” he muttered. “So in each other’s business.”

I nodded. “Everyone will assume we’re dating tomorrow. Just so you know.”

His eyebrows shot up, and he stood, grabbing both our plates. “That’s a bit of a jump, isn’t it?”

“Not really. They’re simply putting two and two together and getting five, as they generally do. It’s not much of a jump when you consider that I’m single and you’re single and hot.”

He glanced over his shoulder at me, amusement curling his lips.

“I…Um…I wasn’t supposed to say that out loud,” I said slowly.

Crap.

“You think I’m hot,” he said. He didn’t ask, he just said it.

“I, well, I, er…”

He quirked a brow at me.

I took a deep breath. “Yes. You don’t?”

“I have to admit I’ve never really looked at myself that way.” His restrained laughter made his shoulders shake. “I’ll consider it next time I look in the mirror.”

“There’s no need to be sarcastic about it.” I finished my wine and got up. The chair squeaked against the floor. “And now I’m the one who’s made it awkward, soooo, I think I’m going to make like a banana and split.” I put the wine glass on the side by the sink and turned. “Thank you for dinner. It was great. Let’s pretend this conversation never happened.”

He stood in front of me, blocking my way. His biceps clenched with how he had his arms folded across his chest, and the white material of his t-shirt stretched over his shoulders in a way that was more than a little distracting.