“My nan used to make a curry with raisins in it.” He winces. “It wasn’t…great…”
“It sounds like something my grandma might’ve made from herBusy Woman’scookbook. Lots of packet mixes?”
“Nan’s got French onion soup mix stockpiled to last her through the rapture.”
I laugh. “I promise you this dish won’t taste anything like your nan’s curry.”
“I’m holdin’ you to that promise.”
“And if all else fails, you can pick out the raisins.”
Back at his place,Sawyer rummages in the bottom of his crisper. “I was sure I had one…”
I tear my eyes away from the pot bubbling on the stove to peer over my shoulder. “What are you hunting for down there?”
“A bell pepper.”
“For?”
“You’ve inspired me. I want to pair somethin’ with your pilaf. How do lamb kabobs sound?”
“Yummy.”
“Damn straight they are.”
His enthusiasm is unexpected. “You enjoy cooking?”
“I won’t claim I’m a great cook, but I know enough to get by. I’m better on the grill.”
“I’m surprised you chose lamb.”
“As opposed to?”
I shrug. “Seafood? Youarea fisherman.”
“Not many fish on my trawler.”
“Lobster…man?”
“Yeah.” He nods. “I don’t eat ’em, though.”
“Too sentimental?”
“Aw, maybe a bit. Ask me again after one of the little bastards pinches me, though.”
Vegetables drop onto the countertop beside the stove. The bottom cabinets snap open and closed.
“Where the hell did I put the choppin’ board?” Sawyer mutters.
“Oh, I saw it—”
I turn too quickly and collide with a black cotton T-shirt. Sawyer’s hand falls to my waist, and he grips my cardigan to steady himself, but the jolt of our bodies crashing into each other wedges me in the corner. Wood pins me from behind, and in front there’s…Oh… A wall of man is there. I take a deep breath in. Ocean. Cologne. He’s soclose.
“You’re bumping into everyone today,” I whisper into his chest.
“Seems like it.”
His thumb digs deeper into my waist. Is he inching me closer? Getting me right where he wants me?
