knows how to get herself home in a snowstorm.”
“Ouch!” He loved the way her face lit up when she laughed. “Good one.”
“I try.”
He chopped and diced the vegetables as instructed while she started cooking. When he was finished with his given tasks, he leaned against the counter and held his coffee in one hand. Micah turned and gave him a quick once-over, laughter filling her eyes.
“What?”
“Your zipper is down.”
He looked down and sure enough, it was. He looked back up at her as she giggled. “It’s been down this whole time and you’re just now telling me? My eyes are up here, Micah. Let’s try and keep yours above my waist level.”
“Ha! Whatever! I was not checking you out.” Micah swatted at him with her spatula, but he was quick enough to duck out of its path. She countered with her other hand and there was no hope of escaping that one.
“You totally were, and you know it.” This was easier. More like how it used to be between them. He zipped up his pants and went back to his coffee.
They cooked in comfortable silence—at least, that was what it was supposed to be. Josh remained on edge, though. Each time she came close or accidentally brushed up against him, he tensed. He prayed she would not notice. He kept throwing out his typical jokes to keep her off his trail. If she caught on or noticed, she showed no sign or it.
* * *
“How is it coming?” She stretched to look over his shoulder to see his progress with the dinner. He had a lot of practice cooking for the guys at the firehouse and was pretty good at it. She was impressed. He might even be better than she was with all the slicing and dicing.
“I’m almost finished with all the veggies. The meat looks like it’s just about ready for the rest of the stuff.”
“You are right. It does look like it’s ready.” Micah armed herself with a spatula and got back to work.
Josh was acting a little weird. He was trying to cover it up, trying to act like normal, but she knew him better than that. Could he tell? Was she that easy to read?
She did want to be independent from him, to be able to function without needing him in every area of her life, but she didn’t want to lose his friendship altogether.
As she worried about the state of their relationship, she mindlessly stirred the ingredients in the hot pan on the stove top. “Can you pass me that jar of minced garlic?”
“Sure.”
He handed it to her and she scooped out some to add to the pan. With the open jar of garlic in one hand and the lid in the other, she quickly turned to return it to the fridge, attempting to close it midturn. When she whipped around in the small kitchen, she collided with Josh as he also tried to get to the fridge. The minced garlic in olive oil went all over his shirt as the jar dropped to the ground, shattering and covering the floor.
“Oh. My. Gosh.” She shook her hand, trying to rid herself of the garlic clinging to her hand. It only made things worse, sending it flying in the air. “I am so sorry!”
They both lost it, laughing until they cried. It reeked around them, the smell of garlic filling the air. They began to pick up the large pieces of glass and made quick work of cleaning up the stinky mess. She washed her hands, knowing full well they would smell for days. Looking up at Josh for the first time since the incident, she was reminded of the mess she had made of his shirt.
“I’ve ruined your shirt!”
“It will be fine, I—”
“No. It’s not fine. You’ll never get the oil out. And the smell... Girls will stop talking to you altogether.”
“Maybe I want the girls to stop, anyway.”
“Yeah, right. I think I have one of your old Red Sox T-shirts...”
His eyebrow formed a perfect questioning arch.
“I stole it from you years ago. Get over it.”
She went in search of the T-shirt, digging through her drawers. Hopefully it wasn’t dirty. She liked sleeping in it. Thankfully, she found it clean and folded in a drawer.
She turned to head back to the kitchen only to find he had followed her into her room. He stood there just inside her doorway, ruined T-shirt in hand, chest bare.
Wow, did he fill up the place! She could not control her eyes from feasting on the expanse of tattooed skin.
She had been there when he had two of the tattoos done, but she did not remember reacting like this. Her fingers itched to trace the ink, especially the intricate design that covered the whole left side of his torso. And what a torso it was. She remembered the pain he had endured during that tattoo session, his grip tightening during moments of intense pain as she held his hand the entire time.
“Can I have the shirt or not?”
Oh, my gosh! She was still holding the T-shirt in her hand while staring at him like a desperate and starved woman. Quickly, she dropped her eyes to the floor, very much interested in the wood floors and their need of a good sweep.
She still hadn’t relinquished the shirt. This was getting embarrassing. She tossed it at him, but he still blocked the doorway. She was stuck, forced to watch him clothe himself.
What a shame to have to cover it all up, but if she wanted to keep her sanity it needed to happen.
Boy, was it hot in here! What was the thermostat on, anyway? His eyes connected with hers once more before he turned to leave the room.
“Thanks. You know what this means, though.”
“What?” She felt anxious, wondering what in the world would come from his mouth next. Had he noticed the way she had looked at him? What was he thinking? Her heart raced as she waited for his response.
“I’m taking my shirt back.”
She exhaled deeply. Giving up the shirt was easy enough; an awkward conversation about her gawking at him...not so much.
Josh knew.
This was it. She was done for. She had been blatantly obvious in the way she stood there like a sex-starved crazy person when he took off his shirt earlier. How could she be so stupid?
He was acting even worse now than before. Of course, he was still trying hard to cover it up, acting so close to normal that a person watching them interact would not know something was up.
But she did.
Micah put on a movie, waiting for him to nix her choice, but he didn’t. Yup, something was up with him.
He sat at the opposite end of the couch, the farthest point away from her. He kept his focus on his plate, as
