is the way it should be.” He took a long pull from his beer, then placed it back on the table. “Where do your sister and your banker, accountant and attorney brothers live?”
“They’re all in Memphis, not far from our parents. I’m the one rocking the boat. My sister and my brothers are all married—each has two kids. My sister has two boys. Each of my brothers has a son and a daughter. I have delightful nieces and nephews and I miss them a lot.”
Her voice was wistful, reminding him of her loss and the fragile side to her. One more reminder to avoid flirting with her or crossing the line any more than he already had.
“Are you close with your siblings?”
“I’m close to my sister and close to my youngest brother, Jason. I guess because of our ages. He’s five years older than I am. Derek is eight years older, Lydia is ten years older and Dillon is twelve years older. Dillon and I have gotten to know each other a little better since we’re grown, but we’re not close. What’s worse, he’s friends with Carlton. So is Lydia’s husband, Frank.”
“How did you get interested in cooking?” he asked her. He was curious about her but truthfully, he enjoyed sitting with her and wanted to keep her talking. His chair was turned enough that he could watch her, gaze into her blue eyes and get an occasional whiff of her perfume. She smelled wonderful and he could look at her all evening. He could listen to her, too. Her voice was perfect—neither too high-pitched nor too low.
“We had a woman who cooked and cleaned for us. Her name was Sandy and she would let me help when I was little and then she taught me how to do things on my own. She was a wonderful cook. People wanted to hire her away from us occasionally, but she stayed with us. I still keep up with her and go see her. She’s elderly now and my dad helped her get some investments and a savings plan, so she’s comfortable. Dad put a down payment on a house for her about fifteen years before she finally quit work and she paid off the mortgage before she quit. I’ve called her since I left home and she knows I left and will stay somewhere else for a while and she knows why. I’m really close to her. She was like another mother to me.”
“That’s nice you’ve stayed close. And nice you didn’t burden her with telling her where you are, although you might be better off if someone knows.”
“Oh, several people know where I am. I keep in touch with Mom. She doesn’t know specifics, but she knows enough. My sister knows where I am and what I’m doing. We text daily. I have a close Memphis friend—Olivia—who knows. She won’t even speak to Carlton. My parents won’t bother asking her about me, because they’ll know she won’t tell them.
“Olivia and Carlton move in the same circles and she’ll let me know when he’s seeing somebody else, which he should be doing by now. Then he’ll be far less interested in finding me. He knows I’m not going back. Our divorce was final a year ago. I left him five months before that.” She paused and gave him a solemn look that startled him. “Before I left him, I miscarried and lost a baby. I was in the second month of pregnancy.” She looked away, but not before he saw her eyes fill with tears.
“Sorry for your loss.”
“Even though the doctor said I can still have babies, I can’t seem to get over it,” she whispered. He barely heard her and saw her hands locked together in her lap. His sympathy went out to her. He thought of Caroline and Adam, and Zach’s little girl—how adorable they were—and felt a stab of sadness for her loss. Impulsively, he reached over to pat her hands.
She wiped her eyes and inhaled, finally turning to face him as she stood.
“Thank you. I think I should go look at dinner and get it on the table. I don’t want it to get dried out.”
“I’ll help,” he said, standing with her and walking back. She was tall for a woman, but not as tall as he was.
“Please have a seat and I’ll get dinner on while you finish your beer.”
“I can help. Do you want more tea?”
“Yes, please,” she said, hurrying to get things out. He helped and was pleasantly surprised with each dish she pulled out of the warming oven or the stove. Everything looked appetizing.
In minutes they were seated, overlooking a platter with chunks of tender beef. There was steaming brown gravy in a white gravy boat with a silver ladle. She had made fluffy mashed potatoes and steamed collard greens. She had found a jar of peppers for the greens. And they had salad plates for a tossed green salad.
The moment he took a bite of roast, there was no question she had the job. The tender meat was the best ever. So was the dark brown gravy. A timer dinged and she left to return with huge fluffy rolls that astounded him.
“I don’t recall these being in my freezer.”
“They weren’t in your freezer. I made them today.”
“You really can cook,” he said, staring at her and thinking her ex had to be unhinged to treat her so badly. She was every man’s dream.
“So what does that mean?” she asked, slanting him a curious look.
What it meant was that he was doomed. He had to hire her and he had to stay professional, remote, keep his hands to himself and his conversation impersonal. Now that he knew about the loss of her baby, it was even more important to leave her alone to let her heal.
“It means you have a job as my cook if you want it.”
“Thank you,” she said, giving him one of her radiant smiles, which turned his insides to jelly and killed all appetite for dinner. He needed to pack and get back to Houston sooner than he had planned because staying around here was going to be an incredible challenge.
“We should discuss a menu for the coming week. I don’t really know what you like. What would you like in the morning?”
The answer that instantly came to mind could not be said. He could feel sweat breaking out on his forehead. She was sexy, hot, the most beautiful woman he had met, and he couldn’t do one thing about it. He did not want to hurt her and she looked like the very earnest kind, not one for an affair that would be done and forgotten swiftly.
“You’re talking about breakfast,” he said, unable to hold back that much.
She blinked and he saw understanding dawn as her cheeks flushed. “I definitely mean breakfast,” she said briskly, but there was a breathless note to her voice now that added to his climbing temperature. “Orange juice? Tomato juice? Eggs, pancakes, what?”
“I’ll think about it,” he said. It was impossible to decide what he wanted for breakfast. He looked down at his plate, drinking his iced tea, trying to get his thoughts elsewhere and cool down. “After dinner we’ll make a grocery list and Saturday I’ll go into town with you to the store.”
They ate in silence while he tried to cool his libido and stop thinking about how he’d enjoy flirting with her. As he took a few tentative bites and tried to get her out of his thoughts and avoid looking at her, his appetite began to return. Jeb was going to be speechless the first time he ate her cooking.
“What kind of restaurant do you want to have?” Ryan asked, finally risking a look at her.
“Just American. That’s what I know. I had it all planned. I dreamed about it during college, but
