My head is spinning already. Between this—seeing Everett in his own space, moving so effortlessly around his kitchen and preparing food like some kind of domestic God with those damn forearms.He thinks I look pretty. Down, girl. I take a breath before I fix my smile in place. It’s an easy one to wear when Everett’s around.
“Yeah,” I answer. “You look nice, too.” Understatement of the century. I use a tea towel to pull a casserole dish from the oven. I’ve baked a salmon fillet in a honey and soy sauce glaze, and cooked a mountain of potatoes and vegetables to eat with it. The steam from the dish fogs my phone screen as I serve my food onto a plate.
“That looks good,” Everett says through the fog. “What are we eating tonight?”
I explain the meal to him as I quickly tidy the counters and set the casserole dish in water to soak. By the time I’m done, the steam fog has cleared, and I’m looking at Ev’s face again.
“God, that sounds fucking incredible,” he says. He shoves a forkful of noodles into his mouth and chews before continuing. “I just madea sausage and spaghetti casserole. It’s pretty much my specialty dish… and the only thing I can cook, other than potatoes and eggs.”
“It sounds good, though. What kind of sausage?”
“Well, ma’am, I thought you might never ask,” he says with an exaggerated accent and a laugh. I laugh too. It’s so easy to laugh with Everett. “It’s a pepper beef sausage. It’s one of our specialties here—it’s Tanner Ranch beef, and a local kitchen takes the meat and produces the sausages. We wholesale to local stores and markets, but we always end up with plenty for ourselves, too.”
My mouth is watering as I sit down at my breakfast bar with my heaping plate of veggies. As delicious as the salmon smells, I’m not so sure I’m in the mood for it anymore after hearing about Everett’s farm-to-table dinner.
“Ugh, that sounds amazing. You’ll have to bring me some next time I see you.” I cut into my salmon fillet, smiling as the flaky fish melts apart.
“Ruth, next time you’re in Austin, I’ll cook for you. That’s a promise, honey.”
He called me honey.
This man is dangerous, and not for the reasons my friends have worried about. I told them a few days ago about meeting him again in Austin. About the way he all but invited me to visit him and stay out there for a few days.
And how I’m seriously considering taking him up on his offer, and visiting him on the ranch. He chews thoughtfully on another mouthful of spaghetti as I begin to eat my own food.
“So, Ruth,” he begins after swallowing. I find myself captivated by the way his throat works as he speaks. “What five things are you taking with you to a desert island?”
“A getaway boat?” I suggest. Everett snorts, choking on a mouthful of sausage. It takes him a minute to regain his composure.
“Come on, Ruth,” he says with a laugh. “For real, what would you bring with you?”
“Are you coming too? What are you bringing? I don’t want to double up—we should maximise our items.”
“Ruth!”
“Okay. Fine. An endless power supply, so I can play my Taylor Swift discography. That’s two things, because I’ll play it on my phone. A blanket, because I’m always cold. A good moisturiser, because all that sea air will dry my skin. Does food count as a singular item?”
Everett’s face is torn between amused and indignant, and I relent.
“Okay, okay. A month’s supply of Doritos. That would get me by until I’m rescued, right?”
“Who said we’re deserted out there? We have free will. We can leave any time.”
“Oh mygod, Everett. In that case, a bikini that won’t give me tan lines, and a straw, for coconut juice.”
“That’s the spirit.”
“Why, what are you bringing?”
“A good knife, so I can fillet fish or meat, crack open coconuts, fight off intruders. Swim shorts. Maybe a snorkel.”
“That’s three. What are you bringing for fun?”
“Honey, you’re there with me.”
“Oh.Oh, it’s that kind of desert island? Maybe I should bring a razor to shave my legs.”
“Shave, don’t shave. As long as you’re there with me, honey.”
