Part 8 (1/2)
”It was time to come back,” I answer instead. ”I missed home.”
He nods thoughtfully, pours us each a gla.s.s of red wine, and hands me mine. ”I hope you like spaghetti. It's the only thing I make really well.”
”I love it.”
”You're just saying that.”
”No.” I laugh and take a sip of my wine. ”I love Italian food. I brought dessert.”
His eyes warm and narrow and a smile tickles his lips, showing me that dimple. ”You've already said that I'm not allowed to have what I really want for dessert tonight, so strawberry shortcake will have to do.”
”You'll live,” I reply dryly.
He drains the pasta and plates our meals before throwing the crusty garlic bread in a basket, and motions for me to grab our wine and follow him to the kitchen table.
”Thor, bed,” he commands and snaps his fingers, and Thor immediately curls up on the dog bed in the corner of the room.
”He's already trained really well.”
”Seth has done most of the work.” He joins me at the table and grins proudly. ”He loves that dog. And Thor's smart.”
”Mmm, so good,” I mutter with a mouth full of pasta drenched in red sauce. ”I didn't realize how hungry I was.”
He nods and eats, watching me. ”How's business?”
”Slow this time of year.” I shrug and take a bite of bread. ”Typical. How about you?”
”The same. We just survive winters. Things will be nuts around here in a few months.”
”Are you glad to be back on the ranch?” I ask.
”Yeah. I missed it. Seth loves every minute of it.”
I glance over at Thor, whose ears have perked up at the sound of his young master's name. ”Do you ever hear from his mother?” I can't say the woman's name out loud.
”No.”
He doesn't elaborate.
”Never?”
”No.” He won't meet my eyes, and instead just keeps shoveling food in his mouth. Does it hurt him to think of her?
The thought of that makes me ill.
”Is the divorce final?” I ask casually and reach for my wine. His fork stills in midair and he looks at me like I've just asked if he'd ever consider a s.e.x change.
He lowers the fork back to the plate and wipes his mouth on his napkin, gathering his thoughts.
”The divorce was final before I ever touched you.” The words are deceptively calm. His eyes are pinned to mine now, a slight frown pulled between his brows. ”I would have never put my hands on you if it wasn't.”
I nod once and carry on as though it's not that big a deal, but something in me that was worried before loosens.
When my plate is clean, I lean back in the chair and rub my hands up and down my flat belly.
”Dear G.o.d, I'm full.”
”No dessert?” he asks with a chuckle.
”Not for a while. Maybe not for a month.”
I stand and clear my plate and gla.s.s. ”Are you finished?”
”Yeah, but I'll clean up.”
”You cooked. I think there's a federal law somewhere that says that the cook doesn't clean.” I wink and gather his dishes and carry them to the kitchen. I rinse and load the dishes into the dishwasher, wipe down the countertops, and then turn to find him standing on the other side of the island, leaning on his elbows.
He opens his mouth to speak, and just when I think he's going to say something profound, he says, ”I have plans for this kitchen.”
”You do?”
He nods and watches me carefully. ”It hasn't been updated in about fifteen years.”
I glance about the homey s.p.a.ce. ”I guess it could use some work.”
Why are we talking about the kitchen?
”I think I might gut it and start from scratch.”
”That's quite a project.” I swallow hard as he walks around the island to me. I know I said no s.e.x tonight, but frankly, if he boosted me up on this countertop and had his wicked way with me right now, I wouldn't turn him down.
I am a red-blooded woman, after all.
His hand glides down my arm and he links his fingers with mine, raises it to his mouth, and plants a soft kiss on my thumb.
”Shall we watch a movie?”
”Sure.” My voice is high and squeaky, and I want to die. I clear my throat, but Zack grins and leads me out of the kitchen to the family room, where a huge TV dominates one wall and soft brown couches sit around the room. There are game systems situated on a unit under the TV, and controllers are lying on the ottoman, obviously left there from the last time the guys played.
”Seth and I spend a lot of time in here,” he says sheepishly.
”It's a comfortable room.” I flop down on a couch slouched in the corner and prop my sock-clad feet on the ottoman. ”I like it.”
”Make yourself at home,” he says with a chuckle. ”What do you want to watch?”
”Why don't we flip through the channels to see if there's anything on TV?”
”You're a channel flipper,” he says accusingly and pa.s.ses me the remote.
I begin flipping through the stations, pausing at the History channel to watch a show about secrets of museums.