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Pixie wasn’t stupid, or unfeeling. Clearly something pervasive and deep-seated was eating away at Doug. Something bad. And it had her backing off.
But then, instead of simply walking away and ignoring his presence—for the rest of however long he decided to stay—her backbone had collapsed. She’d actually freaking told him he could come in and eat, and that she wouldn’t press for details regarding his dickish actions. Pixie bit back a sigh. Apparently wishy-washy was ruling the roost tonight.
But Doug…
He must have seen how disappointed she was, allowing him his secrets, so he’d magnanimously offered to tell herpartof his reason for backing off while assuring her it wasn’t her stupid arm.
She supposed it was something. And…she sorta, kinda believed him that he wasn’t turned off by her infirmity.
The smellof spicy beef hit her nostrils the minute she opened the door, and a hum of appreciation rose up behind her.
“Damn, that smells good, Pixie.”
She snorted. “Better than limp-ass pizza.” She strode purposely toward the kitchen with him following. “The enchiladas are beef and cheese. I made a Mexican rice, and also heated up a can of refried beans.”
Hot on her heels, Doug stopped abruptly in the doorway between rooms. “Do you need any help?”
Pixie appreciated what Doug was offering. She’d told him during one of their two dates that she hated it when people automatically tried to take over tasks for her, assuming she’d struggle with only one functioning arm. He’d obviously listened, believing her that after a decade and a half of coping, she’d learned how to function just fine.
But there was one task he could take care of while she dished up their food.
“Sure,” she told him with a nod. “You can set the table. Plates are in that cupboard.” She tilted her head toward the proper door. “Forks and knives in that drawer.” She cocked a hip to the right, indicating their location.
“You got it.” He didn’t hesitate, but walked forward and easily handled his task while she pulled the steaming pan of goodness from the oven, turning toward the table.
Damn.She’d forgotten to put out a trivet on which to place the hot pan. “Doug?”
He gave her a chin nod. “Yeah?”
“Above the stove there’s a large wooden thing. Can you place it on the table so the pan won’t scorch the finish?”
“Of course.” He put down the silverware still in his hand and strode quickly her way, reaching above Pixie’s head to open the cabinet indicated.
She immediately felt the heat of Doug’s warm, hard body as he stretched around and above her to retrieve the item. Now it wasn’t the enchiladas sending fire to her midsection.No.That was all Doug. She inhaled the fresh, woodsy scent of him, and every nerve receptor in her body lit up.Yup.Even after being an asshole, hestillhad that effect on her.
Pixie shifted, holding onto the pan.
Was Doug taking overly long at his task? Pixie couldn’t be sure, but unfortunately she couldn’t bask in the feeling of him. The burden held in her one functioning hand—even though she had muscles upon muscles in that forearm—was in danger of dropping to the floor. She spun around and plunked the pan down on the unused burners on her stove-top, brushing her ass against Doug’s hip in the process.
Yikes.Talk about heat. And electricity…
“Shit. Sorry,” she apologized.
Had Doug felt it, too?
Maybe. He’d quickly snapped out of whatever state had rendered him static, grabbed the board and hustled it to the table.
“There. All set.” He looked a little sheepish for a moment, but…what had made him pause so close to her in the first place?Was it one of the normal space-outs she’d come to expect from him, or something more?
Maybe, for both their sanity’s, Doug should start explaining his reasons for ghosting her, sooner, rather than later. He was giving off some seriously mixed signals; first with him showing up here, then just now, letting his body lean in toward hers
“You still like me,” she dared, not looking at him as she snagged a serving utensil, then picked up the pan again to bring it to the table. She heard him groan, but didn’t look at him as she walked back to the stove to dish up the rice and beans.
“Of course I like you,” he grumbled, setting out the last of the flatware. “What’s not to like? You’re a…beautiful woman, Pixie.” It sounded as if it cost him to say that, but he gamely continued. “You’re warm, smart, engaging…”
“Undatable,” she added a little bitterly. Fuck his pretty words if he couldn’t do something constructive about them.
“Just by me,” he quickly countered, his voice sounding clipped. “I’ve got some shit…” He changed tactics. “Hell, Pixie, I’m sure there are a lot of guys out there who’d give their right arm to date you.”
