The Love Coupon (Stubborn Hearts 2)

A bowl of steamed vegetables went down in front of him and then a plated meal.

“Smoked cod with creamy parsley sauce on garlic potato mash,” she said with a TV-game-show-host arm wave.

“It looks good.” A cautiously hedged comment if ever there was one. He’d expected something less competent from the banging about and the stress on her face, and it must’ve showed in his tone.

“It tastes good too, you enormous heaving lump of doubt. You thought I’d fuck up. I don’t like cooking. I’d almost rather do anything else, but I know how to do it.”

The greater part of valor would be to eat and make approving noises at this stage. Not difficult. It was very tasty. “It’s really good.”

She grunted, eyes down on her plate. They were sitting close enough for him to open his arm like a bird wing, elbow out, and nudge her ribs. “You could cook this when we have Wren and Josh over, when he’s back for an office leaders meeting, or we could do something together.”

“Are you completely crazy?” She put her utensils down and turned to him. “You and me in the kitchen collaborating? It would be like Thunderdome. Two men enter. One man leaves.”

“Ah—”

“You want to impress your friends, or at least not horrify them. We collaborate beautifully in the bedroom. We even manage to rub together remarkably well outside the bedroom now, but together in the kitchen...?

?? She took a sip of her wine and he waited on her final pronouncement. “Man, you have a death wish.”

Not a death wish, but there were other things he wished for. Primarily for more than nineteen coupons.

Denise Revero had an interesting opening for him in San Francisco. The sign-on bonus would more than compensate for the inconvenience of moving. He’d like the weather, but he hesitated. Selling up was a big deal. He’d had enough of moving around growing up, and he’d never seriously thought about Frisco before.

“I’m not saying you should jump on this opportunity, but it might be a waiting game otherwise,” Denise said.

“Let me think about it.”

“Twenty-four hours, Tom. If I don’t hear from you by this time Wednesday, it’s a pass.”

Fair call. He’d have time to think about it overnight. But pounding the treadmill didn’t give him any clarity. Neither did drawing up his mental pros-and-cons list. It was a balanced ledger, which meant he needed some factor outside the rational motivations to sway him. The only thing swaying him Tuesday night was Flick.

He put playlists together by adopting other people’s. Legitimatized theft of their efforts. Flick had a whole other way of working it out that required headphones and dancing. Not that he would see what she was dancing to. Not that it mattered. There was a certain clarity in the shift of her hips and the roll of her pelvis, and the only decision he cared about was whose bed they were sleeping in after they’d finished messing up the sheets.

He waited until she wasn’t flailing around and slipped in behind her, hands on her hips. She pushed the headphones off one ear and looked back at him. “I’m working here.”

“I appreciate it.”

She leaned back into him. “You’re far away tonight.”

“You’re the one in another world.” He pulled the jack from the socket for emphasis and she took the headphones off, taking a seat on the coffee table.

“Talk to me.” She made a come-on gesture with her fingers.

“There’s a job in Frisco.”

Her eyes popped wide. “You’re thinking of quitting Rendel.”

“I have to keep my options open.”

“Of course you do. So, this job?”

“It would be a good move.”

“But you’re hesitant.”

“It’s a—” He stopped, both the pacing he was doing and defense of the job he was about to make.

“Tom?”