had once remarked that he could charm a nun out of her habit if he put his mind to it, so he didn’t figure it should be too difficult to convince Kenzie to share a meal with him.
“Dinner,” he clarified, his lips curving in an easy smile. “You know—when you sit down at a table, sometimes in a restaurant, and enjoy a meal.”
“I’m vaguely familiar with the concept,” she said dryly. “In fact, I’ve got soup heating on the stove for mine.”
“Soup isn’t a meal,” he chided. “Even Diggers’ menu lists it as a starter.”
“Well, it’s my meal tonight,” she insisted, and turned her back on him.
Which afforded him a spectacular view of her nicely shaped derriere encased in snug denim.
He followed that sweetly curved butt to the kitchen, where she picked up a spoon from the counter and stirred the soup.
He averted his gaze so she wouldn’t catch him staring again and looked around the ultramodern kitchen with dark walnut cupboards and stainless steel appliances. A granite-topped island separated the kitchen from the open-concept living area with a trio of tall windows that overlooked Main Street.
“Nice place,” he remarked.
“I like it,” she agreed.
“How long have you lived here?”
“Just over a year,” she said. “Katelyn used to live up here and work downstairs, but then she married the new sheriff and they bought a house over on Sagebrush. As soon as I heard she was moving out, I asked if she’d rent the place to me.”
“Katelyn...Gilmore?”
“It’s Davidson now,” she told him.
“I didn’t know she’d married the sheriff.” Then he frowned. “Or maybe I just don’t pay much attention when my mother starts gossiping about local events.” It was also possible that Margaret Channing hadn’t said anything, preferring to pretend that the entire Gilmore family didn’t exist.
“Not just married but a new mom now to the most adorable little girl,” Kenzie told him.
Though she hadn’t invited him to sit, he straddled a stool at the island and folded his arms on the counter. His stomach rumbled.
“You know, if you made sandwiches to go with that soup, you’d probably be able to feed two people,” he told her.
“Is that your way of inviting yourself to stay for dinner?”
“Soup’s not dinner,” he said again. “But if you added a sandwich...”
She shook her head, but the smile that tugged at her lips confirmed that she was warming up to his presence. “Grilled cheese, okay?”
He grinned. “Grilled cheese is the best kind of sandwich with soup.”
Kenzie turned the knob for another burner, set a frying pan on it, then retrieved the ingredients for the sandwiches.
“Can I help?” he offered, as she began to butter slices of bread.
She nodded to the pot on the stove. “Just keep an eye on the soup.”
He picked up the wooden spoon she’d set down, so that he was armed and ready.
“If you haven’t kept up with local events, how did you know that I was living here?” Kenzie asked him now.
“Your mother told me,” he admitted.
The knife she’d taken out of the block to slice the cheese slipped from her grasp and clattered against the counter. “When did you talk to my mother?”
“When I stopped by the house on Whitechurch Road earlier.”
“Well, that would explain the three voice-mail messages she left for me,” Kenzie noted, picking up the knife again.
“Three messages and you didn’t call her back?” he asked in feigned shock.
She shrugged and resumed slicing the cheese. “If it had been anything important, she would have said so.”
He mimed thrusting a dagger in his heart. “Ouch.”
She rolled her eyes.
“She was surprised to see me,” he confided. “And reluctant to let me know where I could find you.”
Butter sizzled as Kenzie set the sandwiches in the hot pan.
“She’s always been...protective of me,” she said.
“I knew that,” he acknowledged. “I just never knew that she disliked me so much. Which was a surprise, because most women usually find me charming. Even moms.”
“No doubt.”
“And I never did anything to earn her disapproval.” But they both knew that wasn’t exactly true, so he clarified, “At least not anything that she knows about.” He sent Kenzie a questioning glance. “Or does she?”
She dropped her gaze to the pan, as if turning the sandwiches required her complete focus. “There’s nothing for her to know.”
He nodded, relieved by her response. Glad to hear her confirm that what happened between them hadn’t been a big deal to her, either.
Glad...and a little bit skeptical.
But he didn’t express his doubt. He didn’t want to have the awkward conversation they probably should have had seven years earlier. And he especially didn’t want to dig up old feelings of guilt and regret—not hers or his own.
She reached into the cupboard over the sink for dishes, then pulled open a drawer for cutlery.
He rose from his seat at the island to help.
“I do appreciate this.” He slid the sandwiches out of the pan and onto the plates while she poured the soup into the bowls. “You feeding me, I mean.”
She smiled at that. “As if I had a choice.”
“You always have a choice,” he told her.
She sat down beside him. “So tell me why you showed up at my door instead of grabbing a bite with Gage or Brett or one of the other guys you used to hang out with,” she suggested.
“Truthfully—” he dipped his spoon into his bowl “—I didn’t keep in touch with anyone when I left Haven. Aside from you, I don’t have many friends remaining in this town.”
“I was your sister’s friend,” she said, as she tore off a piece of her sandwich and popped it into her mouth. “Not yours.”
“Maybe we weren’t friends,” he acknowledged. And then, because he apparently did want to have the awkward conversation they’d skipped seven years earlier, he added, “But we were almost lovers.”
