Her lips tilt upward. “I’m guessing he liked it?”
“Loved it. We made versions of it twice a month for ages.”
“You’re really building up to this grilled cheese.” Her eyes are sparkling; she nudges her elbow against my arm. At the small touch, I stiffen; it sends another jolt down my spine. One that settles low in my stomach. “What if I hate it?”
“Impossible.” I nod at the prep counter, sliding away so I don’tdo something stupid, like tug on her bun until it unravels. “You can start putting those together. Thin layer of mayo on each side, two slices of each kind of cheese. Don’t close them yet.”
By the time the sandwiches are assembled, it’s time to deglaze the pan. I gesture for her to come over to the stove. “With caramelized onions, you don’t want to mess with them too much. Leave the vinegar until the end to deglaze the pan. It’s where the flavor comes from.” I hand her the wooden spatula I’ve been using. “Get up all the good, browned bits.”
As I pour in a little of the vinegar, thick and sweet, she scrapes the bottom of the pan.
“That’s it. Don’t be shy.”
Her arm jerks, nearly launching a few pieces of onion onto the stovetop. “Hartman—”
I realize how close I’m standing. Way too close for my sanity. “Sorry.” I lurch away, even as I suddenly ache to mold our bodies together. To inch my fingers under that crop top to feel her breathe.
“Like this, Chef?” she asks, head tilting back to meet my gaze.
Fuck me. “Yeah.” I swallow, hard. “Just like that.”
When she finishes, I add a scoop of onion to each sandwich, along with a generous handful of potato chips. I put them right on the flat top, pressing down with a spatula, and reach above for a melting dome. Poppy tracks my movements, asking questions, soaking in my likely too-technical explanation of cheese melting points. I’m almost certain she’s humoring me, but at least it’s keeping her from thinking about Ryan. And me from imagining the look on her face if I kissed her.
Finally, it’s time to cut each sandwich in half. She nods approvingly when she sees my precise diagonal cuts. “That’s the way to do it.”
“The only way. Obviously.” I pass her a plate. “It might be a little hot—”
She’s already taking a bite. Her eyes slide shut as she chews. “Oh, fuck.”
“Good?”
“Shh.” She takes another bite. She makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a moan. “I can’t even. This is ridiculous. Amazing. Orgasmic.”
Never mind kissing. At that sound from her lips, thatword, my mind shoots in ridiculous, impractical directions. What noises does she make when she’s being touched? Does she like it fast or achingly slow? What does she taste like when she’s flushed and slick and begging?
Oblivious to my torment, she polishes off half the sandwich, leaving her lips shiny enough I want to lick them. My hand flexes on the edge of the countertop.
“You know,” she says as she dabs her lips with a napkin, “I think this is the only time a guy has ever cooked for me.”
“Yeah?” I wonder if I sound as flayed raw as I feel. “That’s a shame.”
Her eyes look silvery in this light, framed by long lashes. “This was sweet of you.” She clears her throat. “I... the news caught me off guard. But I don’t care about Ryan or who he’s with now. Really.”
“It’s okay if you do.” I have to force the words out. It’s the right thing to say.
She shakes her head. “No, really. I didn’t love him, I just... I liked the idea of finally hitting that milestone, you know? I think part of me thought my family might look at me differently if I had a fiancé.”
I wonder what she’d say if she knew her father’s first thought was that she’d do something reckless. That he asked me totake care of her.
That I said yes.
I have to keep my distance. Deliberately, torturously, I shove every dirty thought about her out of my mind.
She pulls out her phone, opening Instagram. “What’s Owen’s last name?”
“Li. What are you doing?”
“Looking him up.” She glances at me, then back at her phone. “Hey, he works at a place in Fort Lauderdale. That’s not far, right? You should go see him.” She makes a noise of approval. “Oh, wow. Whoever does his food photography is totally killing—wait. I have an idea. Don’t move.”
