“Impatient much?” she said, wandering in. Grinning, she hip checked me away from the oven and looked inside. “Yep, they should be good.”
“They look and smell fucking amazing. Where did you get the recipe?”
“Where all amazing recipes come from, of course. The one, the only, Ina Garten.”
I looked into the oven, resting my chin on her shoulder. I reached around to poke at one meatball, testing it. “Who the hell is Ina Garten?”
“Um, only the most brilliant cook ever. She’s also known as the Barefoot Contessa.” She smacked my hand to keep me from snatching a meatball right off the tray and eating it immediately. They looked that good.
I reluctantly backed away. Apparently, there was no sampling the meal. Well, at least not yet. Racking my brain, the name Barefoot Contessa sounded familiar. “Does she make cookbooks?” I asked, thinking of the cookbooks that lined a shelf in my mom’s kitchen. Heck, I was pretty sure Emma had several too.
“Yes, and every recipe she has is actually fabulous when you make it, which is so rare.”
I nodded, heading to the fridge. Many of the recipes we used at The Homestead were based on family recipes from Jake’s or my own. Our head chef, Pete, also brought his own batch of recipes in. But trying to replicate what someone else did could be tough. I just hoped these meatballs were half as delicious as they smelled.
Pulling out a beer from the fridge, I glanced at Maggie. “Do you want anything?”
“Nope, I’m good.” She added some meatballs to a pot with sauce.
I debated how to begin our conversation. In some ways Maggie could be as skittish as a cat. I felt an intense desire to help her to relax, unwind, and feel at home. She’d done that a bit in the past week, but I felt that she wasn’t all the way there. Yet. I couldn’t decide if she didn’t trust herself or me. I was betting it was likely a little of both. “So, you said you had some news,” I prompted.
“Yes!” Maggie spun away from the oven to face me, and all my blood rushed south. Her eyes were sparkling with light. I could see it from across the island. Her hair flew around her, waves of strawberry blonde tumbling over her shoulders. Her light skin was tinged a bit with color, like she’d been outside for an extended period of time today. But what was killing me was her short pajama shorts with a tiny tank and a loose cardigan. I could absolutely picture a day a few months from now where those shorts would have to ride under her belly and the tank would be stretched to the limits by her stomach.
Who knew I’d find pregnant women so sexy?
“I got a job!” Maggie exclaimed, oblivious to the situation going on in my pants.
“What?” Confusion warred with the efforts to get my other brain under control. “You have a job.”
Maggie rolled her eyes as she moved my way. I worked to keep the counter between us without being obvious as I moved around the side.
“I don’t mean my teaching job. I mean I went to the bookstore today and talked to Ivy. She needs someone to work there a few hours each morning, Monday through Friday. I thought that would be fun.”
“Ahh, you met Bookstore Ivy? What did you think?” I asked as I continued around the side, moving farther away as she came closer again. Good Lord. I was trying not to be obvious, but the closer she came, the more I could see through that tank, which just made the tent situation I had going on in my pants even worse. Damn.
“Ivy is awesome. I’m not working full-time or anything, just for a few hours every morning Monday through Friday to give her daughter a chance to sleep in a bit.”
“And you are good with that? You don’t think you’ll need to rest up or anything?” I scanned her face, seeing if there was any tension there, but found none.
Maggie laughed. “Sully, women have been having babies since the beginning of time. I don’t think most of them get to sit around and just watch their belly grow. I’ll be fine working ten hours a week. I might spend everything I make on romance books and books for my classroom, but that’s a chance I’m willing to take,” Maggie replied before tilting her head and considering me from across the island where I’d moved to make sure we weren’t on the same side. “Umm, Sully, what are you doing?”
I took a swig from my beer, attempting a casual look, before looking back at her. “What do you mean?”
Maggie took a step toward the corner of the island. I took a step to the opposite corner. “Do I smell?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, even as I prepared to move again if she did.
“That’s it!” Raising her finger to point at me. “Stay right there, Cole Patrick Sullivan.” She quickly moved around the island.
I stayed in one place with my hips leaning against the island, praying she wouldn’t notice anything. I felt like a damn teenager, which was the last time I had this little control over myself. Good Lord, this might send Maggie running for her life. Instead of calming down, her fiery eyes had stirred me up even more.
Maggie reached my side and quietly asked, “Sully, what’s going on?”
“Nothing, I swear.” I looked down at my beer.
“Did I do something?”
Shit. Her voice was soft, unlike her typical larger-than-life personality. I couldn’t have her thinking that. I lowered my beer and placed it on the counter. Then I turned toward Maggie and pulled her body flush against mine until we were against each other, my issue becoming obvious to all.
