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“What?” he asked, then spotted her finger. “Oh yeah. It’s ready. Perfect timing.”
She licked her finger and oh, mercy. The man could cook too? Did he have to be so imperfectly perfect? Couldn’t his flaws be annoying? Instead, all his faults were either adorable, like the sauce in the beard, or heart-wrenching, like the prison he continued to keep himself in regarding his past.
Either way, the closer she got to him, the sexier he became.
“Hope you like spaghetti.” He flicked a burner off and started looking through her cabinets. “It’s really all I know really well.”
Sophie reached beneath her center island and pulled out two plates, setting them on top of the granite. “As long as I don’t have to make it, you could’ve made me a bologna sandwich.”
Grabbing the plates, he started scooping up healthy portions. “Now you tell me.”
Normally she had wine with pasta, or wine with anything really, but she wasn’t about to pull out alcohol with Zach there. Not that he had a drinking problem. As far as she knew he hadn’t touched the stuff since that night, or that’s what Chelsea had once told her. But she wasn’t going to be disrespectful.
“I made some tea yesterday,” she told him, glancing through her fridge. “Does that work for you?”
“Fine.”
By the time they sat on the bar stools at her island eating area, her exhaustion from the day had practically faded. With Zach in her kitchen, looking more at home than he should and playing the domestic king beautifully, she’d suddenly gotten her second wind.
“Your cat darted off as soon as I came in.”
“He’s not overly friendly. He’ll come out when he wants me to feed him.”
“I picked your lock.” He forked up a hearty bite. “You need new locks, by the way. I got in way too easy.”
“Haven isn’t known for its high crime rate.” She spread her napkin out over her lap and picked up her fork and knife. “And if someone wants in to cook me dinner, I’m not going to make it more difficult.”
She took a small bite, nearly groaning at the amazing flavor of the sauce. When Zach didn’t have a snarky comeback, she glanced his way.
“What?” she asked after she’d swallowed.
Using his fork, he pointed to her lap and spoke around a mouthful of food. “Your manners are a bit different than mine.”
She realized exactly what he meant. “Yeah, well, if you’d been reprimanded for having your elbows on the table or not properly using your utensils, you’d be brainwashed too.”
Zach slid her napkin from her lap and tossed it on the counter. Then he reached over and took the knife from her grasp and set it aside as well.
“There. Now you can eat comfortably.”
Sophie stared at him as he dug back into his dinner. “What if I get something on my skirt?”
“Take it off.”
“And sit here in my underwear?”
He grunted as he chewed. Yeah, a bit different than dinners she was used to with other people. Even when she ate in front of her television, she still had her lap protected and her fork and knife. Years of being ingrained with the importance of table manners wasn’t something she really thought about, she just ate the way she was taught.
“You’re not eating,” Zach stated, dropping his fork to his plate. “You don’t like it, or are you not sure what to do now that I took away your manners?”
Intrigued, Sophie tipped her head. “Does that bother you? My manners?”
“No, but you’re in your own home. Relax.”
He went on to finish his plate and get a second helping. Sophie got through her meal without dropping a hunk of sauce onto her skirt. Now, had she been wearing white, she would’ve been wearing the sauce for sure.
She started to stack the plates, but Zach covered her hand with his. “Go and sit down. I’ll do the dishes.”
“You cook, you clean, you build houses.” Sophie smiled. “What can’t you do?”
