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Olive didn’t crack a smile and she waved off my attempt at humor. “You know what I’m saying. You downplay your skills, your career. You purposely make yourself less than you are. Why?”
That was a loaded question if ever there was one and I shrugged off her serious question because I didn’t know how to answer it. “No one has ever asked me that before.”
“Well,” she said pointedly and fisted her hands on her hips. “Are you going to answer me?”
No. “I don’t have an answer.”
Her lips twitched just a hint before she gave a sharp nod. “When you do, I’d be interested in hearing it. What’s for dinner?”
I was grateful Olive didn’t push like women were prone to do when they felt entitled to an answer. “Uh, fish?”
Her laughter came out soft and lyrical. “Are you asking me?”
“No. I plan to grill some trout I caught today but I realized I don’t know what you like other than salad and spinach and mushroom pizza.”
She pointed a finger at me and I noticed, for the first time in my life, she wore a pale shade of hot pink nail polish which was so typically Olive. Traditional but with a twist. “Don’t forget the extra cheese.”
“Makes up for the spinach.”
“Bullshit,” she laughed. “No way you got all those muscles without eatin’ yer spinach,” she said in a god awful Popeye impression.
“Popeye could stand the stuff because that pipe dulled his taste buds. I much prefer kale. More nutritious too,” I shot back with a playful grin.
“Good to know. Can I help with anything?”
I shook my head and went to the fridge, pulling everything I thought I might need and setting it on the counter. “Nope. You just sit somewhere so that I can look at you, because you look great in that dress Olive.”
Her cheeks turned an alarming shade of pink but the smile that touched her lips said the comment had pleased her. “Thanks. Smooth talker.”
I shrugged. “I might be smooth but you do look really good in that dress. Especially the neckline. And the way it shows off your legs.” Maybe that was pushing it a little too much, but the white dress she wore with sunflowers dotted all around it, it highlighted the hourglass figure she tried hard to hide.
“Thank you.” She tucked some hair behind her air and twirled in a circle, in search of some place to sit. “Does this wonderful kitchen mean that you’re an equally wonderful chef?”
I barked out a laugh and shook my head. “I get by on my cooking skills,” I told her honestly. “I’ve never sent a plate back to this kitchen.”
Olive laughed again and, no lie, it made me feel like a million bucks. “Funny.”
“Thanks.” I took my time, slather butter under the skin of the fish and adding herbs and spices as if I actually knew what the hell I was doing.
“I’m surprised that you don’t use this kitchen and your cooking skills on the ladies. But I guess that would give the wrong impression?” I looked up at her words to see if she was giving me a hard time, but her smile was gentle, almost teasing.
I stopped what I was doing and gave her question some real thought. “Honestly?”
“I’d prefer it, yes.”
“It never even occurred to me to offer, but if it had, I probably would have come to the same conclusion you did.”
Olive laughed again and shook her head, but she wasn’t judging me. “Thank you for your honesty.”
“I try to be as honest as I can, but it’s not always appreciated.” Had I been honest and answered one of her calls, I might not be working from negative one hundred with her. “So, why matchmaking?”
“You really want to know?”
I nodded. “I’m genuinely curious. It seems, I don’t know, old fashioned I guess? No offense.”
Her laugh was throaty and louder this time as she held her hands up. “None taken, I get that a lot actually. Matchmaking requires a certain set of skills and I possess plenty of them, at least according to a matchmaker I went to shortly after college.”
“You?” That surprised me but she nodded and looked away, slightly embarrassed. “But you are, no offense, the definition of wife material.”
“Thanks, I think. Anyway the things that I’m good at, organization, etiquette and social skills. Things that come naturally to some and not at all to others. Weird, right?”
With the fish and corn wrapped in foil and the potatoes sufficiently poked, I put everything on a tray and nodded for Olive to follow me out onto the deck. “Not at all. In fact, that’s how I ended up a SEAL.” I pitched my voice low and arched a brow. “I have a particular set of skills.”
As expected, my words sent her into a fit of giggles that completely relaxed her as she relaxed onto one of the deck chairs and put her feet up, crossing them at the ankles. “That’s a good impression. And it seems like we’re more alike than you seem to think, Reyes. That’s how you military guys call each other, right?”
