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Hannah shifted from foot to foot as the woman looked her over head to toe. “You should see the other guy.”
“Hmmm. Our fearless leader said you found a young man with paint on his hands.”
Hannah started to nod, but it made the room spin. “Hopefully he’ll roll on his crew.”
“Wouldn’t it be nice if he were so smart? Coffee?” Maria pulled a mug from the stack of clean dishes.
“Oh, no thank you.” Hannah waved her off. “I’m here to help.”
“Help me? Why?” She pointed to the sparsely populated diner. “The rush is long over.”
“Oh, well, I’ll just go start on the dishes.” She wasn’t eager to hang out in the kitchen with Bart, but they’d survived awkward moments before.
“They can wait. You look like you’ll blow away in a stiff wind.”
Hannah chuckled at the absurd suggestion.
“Order up!” Bart slid a plate onto the pass-through for Maria. “Hey, good morning.” He tapped his temple. “Want an ice pack?”
“No thanks.” One good thing about morning sickness, it offered plenty of distraction from her tender cheekbone.
“I told you so.”
“That’s no way to greet your new bride,” Maria scolded, breezing between them to pick up the order.
Hannah sent him an arch look which he mirrored, daring her to make the next move.
“You did tell me so,” she agreed, smiling just to prove she could. “I came in to help.”
“Thanks for the offer, but we’ve got it under control. What’ll you have?”
She couldn’t imagine putting anything into her churning stomach right now. “I had cereal upstairs.”
His dark brows knitted in a small frown, but then his expression cleared. “You’ll wreck my business if it gets around that you don’t trust my cooking,” he said. “Come on back here and I’ll put you to work.”
Another point in Bart’s favor, he understood her inherent need to stay busy.
She walked into the kitchen only to have the room take a slow, sick spin as the heat and rich aromas assaulted her senses.
Bart swore, but his voice seemed distant to her ears. Suddenly the world tipped and tilted as he scooped her into his arms.
“Stop. I’m fine.” The words barely qualified as a protest and did nothing to convince Bart.
He carried her out to the dining room and the cooler air helped clear her head.
“Maria, call an ambulance.”
“No.” That sounded better. “Put me down.” Stronger still.
“In a minute.”
He was carrying her to the corner booth. She heard someone pull the table out of the way so he could lay her down on the vinyl seat. Embarrassment didn’t begin to cover it.
“This isn’t necessary.”
“It is when you can’t stay in an upright position. Christ, you’re turning red. A cool rag— thanks,” he finished.
“I’m blushing, not feverish.”
