“You’ve got me there; I just don’t see the appeal.”
“You will,” she said with a knowing smile. Her tone sounded ominous as it skittered down my spine.
“Keep it up and you’ll have to get these groceries home by yourself.”
She let out a loud, barking laugh. “I’m on to you, Oliver March. I know your dirty little secret. Writer, playboy, bachelor extraordinaire, sure. But you’re also a sweet boy.” She pinched my cheek for good measure.
“I’m gonna have to rethink this friendship,” I told her with grumble of annoyance.
“Come on. I’ll make you lunch to say thanks, how about that?”
“I never turn down a meal with a beautiful woman,” I told Mirabelle with a smile.
“Unless she’s marriage-minded?”
“You got me there, Mira. A man’s gotta have standards.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” she said with a pointed look my way. “For now, let’s just chat.”
“Why does it sound like a dirty word when you say it?” The woman loved to talk, to ‘chat,’ as she called it, but that meant asking probing questions that sounded like they weren’t probing.
She laughed as I bagged up her groceries and we walked out of the store together. “That’s because you have a suspicious mind.”
“Maybe, or maybe I just see things how they are.” Mira was clever, letting those words stand until we she back on familiar territory. Home-court advantage. “Nice place you have, Mirabelle.” It was colorful, but not as much as Eva’s. More dated, too.
“Thanks. It suits me. How does puttanesca sound for lunch?”
“Pasta? Now you’re just trying to make me fall for you, Mira.”
She threw her head back and laughed. “So damn charming it should be a crime.” She shook her head and took a seat at the round kitchen table. “Grab me a cutting board and a knife, would you?”
“You say charm like it’s a bad thing,” I told her and danced all around Mirabelle’s small kitchen, her errand boy, while she interrogated me.
“It’s not a bad thing. I’m just surprised at how effortless it seems. Impressed, really.” Her words sounded genuine, so I chose to believe her.
“I like people. Talking to them, getting to know them, and making them laugh.”
“It’s why you’re successful in what you do.”
Her words surprised me. “Thank you, Mira.”
“You’re welcome. So, what’s the deal with you and my Eva? Are you trying to ruin her business or get in her pants?”
I blinked and looked at her with my brows dipped in confusion. “Are those the only two options?”
“The way I see it, yes.” The determined look in her eyes told me this was a mama tigress protecting her cub.
“Is this where you threaten to kneecap me if I hurt her? Because I can assure you that I don’t have the power or the desire to hurt Eva.”
She waved off my words. “Eva can take care of herself. I’m just curious.”
“Neither. She hates me and I like riling her up, it’s as simple as that.”
“Hmph.” Mira dumped the chopped tomatoes and garlic into a bowl and shoved it away. “If that’s how you want to play it, fine. Grab the trout from the fridge, please.”
I did as she asked, following her instructions to the letter because, as sweet as she looked, Mirabelle was a drill sergeant in the kitchen. “Capers, really?”
“Yes, really. They provide a lovely briny citrus flavor that makes this dish. Let it simmer while the pasta water comes to a boil.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I offered a salute that made her laugh and roll her eyes.
“And pour some wine. Can’t have pasta without wine.”
“Couldn’t agree more.” Who needed a relationship when a simple errand could turn into lunch with a character like Mirabelle?
Determined, rapid footsteps sounded and then the front door opened. “Mama!”
A mischievous smile lit up Mira’s face and she braced her hands on the table and leaned forward. “This is gonna be fun. Back here!”
“You really are evil.”
“Me? I’m just a Southern mama.”
“Hey, Mama… What are you doing here?” The way Eva’s jaw clenched when her gray gaze landed on me was intriguing, but when that pink tongue slipped out to wet her bottom lip and then the top one, I told myself it was because the sight of me left her mouth dry. Because she was hot and bothered, not because she hated my guts.
“Hello to you, too, Eva. I’m good. How are you?”
She blinked, realizing her words. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that, but what are you doing here and why are you cooking?”
“He’s cooking because the doctor told me to take it easy, or did you forget?”
“Of course I didn’t forget, Mama, I brought groceries. They’re in my car.”
“Well, Oliver was nice enough to help me shop for myself and I offered him lunch in exchange for use of his muscles. The silly boy insisted on doing the cooking, and you know how much I love a man who cooks.”