Sweeter Than Candy (The Davenports 1)

“Is someone not a great cook?”

“I’m a lot better than I was when I first started,” he replies.

“That’s not a no.”

“I try to be as honest as possible.” His voice is velvet seduction—deep, smooth, and tempting. He is so different in this setting. Warm, funny, and touchable. Stop. Danger signs flash in my head. You don’t mix business with pleasure, and while Rachel and Acton are both doing well now, we’re still business colleagues of a sort. Aren’t we? I cling to my reasoning and the memory of his harshness. We have nothing in common. Except for wanting to learn how to cook better. It’s a fluke, I argue with myself as I keep a cool exterior. As a healthcare worker, I’ve developed an excellent poker face.

“What is it you actually do?” I ask, keying in onto neutral ground for conversation.

“A lot of public relations work, and dealing with different companies we employ. I used to do a travel more, but we’ve trained and delegated much of our work over the past couple of years. It gets tiresome being constantly on the go.”

“And you want to be closer to home?” I ask curiously.

“That’s where the majority of my family is. I don’t want to miss my nephew’s growth, and I suspect it won’t be long before Luka is adding to his family as well.”

“And you?”

“Immensely enjoy being an uncle.” He skirts the question, and I ease off. If I ever needed a sign, that was it. I want kids like yesterday. Take that, overactive imagination. Pleased with my reasoning, I relax. So the incredibly handsome man isn’t the incarnation of Satan. It doesn’t make him right for me. I find Asher has a dry sense of humor I enjoy. A portion of three cheese penne pasta and a surf and turf filet mignon topped with lemon butter crabmeat, I’m wondering who could eat all of this?

“I’m stuffed just looking at this,” I say as we arrange the meals on a plate, using Karen’s display as a guide.

“Remember we still have apple dumplings with cinnamon sauce for dessert.”

“I hope they’re sending us home with a to-go box.”

He chuckles. “I could pack this all away.”

“You must have one hell of a metabolism to keep so fit.”

“You think I’m fit?” He smiles.

Damnit. “I can’t speak to the time it takes you to run a mile, but you appear to be fairly healthy to me.”

“So do you.”

Is he joking? I’m comfortable with my size, but I’d never be featured in a fitness magazine. I pegged him for the slender blonde type.

“Thank you.”

He gives me a once over that makes me tingle. The skinny jeans and long black shirt with floral décor suddenly feel inadequate. I clear my throat.

After he drizzles the butter sauce on top, I declare the plate finished. “What do you think?” I ask, tilting it up toward him.

“I think we aced it.” He holds his hand up for a high-five, and I deliver it. Our palms slap.

“You two are an excellent team. This is great work,” Karen says as she observes our plate.

“What do you think, Kathy, do we get an A?”

“Yes. Did you tell her what your first attempts were like?” Kathy asks.

“Why don’t we leave the past behind us where it belongs?” Asher says smoothly.

“Oh no. I want to hear about this.”

“Let’s just say Asher has grown leaps and bounds.” She pats his shoulder before moving on to the next table.

Asher points to me. “Not a word.”