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Sara continued to put the ingredients for the tomato soup together, then started making the mashed pea mixture for the minisandwiches. When she felt a presence behind her, she turned slowly. Deacon stood there, watching her work.
“Jesus. You have to stop sneaking up on me.”
“To be fair, I had a five-minute conversation with Bret. I think you may have been in the zone.”
Lowering his voice, he asked, “Still not wanting food?”
Sara cringed and said, “No. Definitely not.”
“Are we still on later or will you be laying in a fetal ball regretting poor life choices tonight?”
Narrowing her eyes, she said, “Poor life choices? I regret nothing. Except, perhaps, that last glass of wine.”
Then she added, “But yes for tonight. I’ll be out of here by three thirty. Call me when you’re off. We can hang out at your place or you can come to mine. I’ll even cook.”
Perking up immediately, he said, “Really? Is it a special occasion or am I getting hot pockets?”
Laughing, she said, “Real food.”
“In that case,
I’ll come to your place. Is six good?”
“Yep. Ya know,” Sara said, in a conversational tone, “if Bret wasn’t here, I’d drag you into that office.”
Raising an eyebrow, Deacon said, “If Bret wasn’t here, you’d already be in that office, bent over the desk.”
Flushing, Sara said, “Hold that thought ’til tonight.”
“Later, beautiful,” Deacon said in low tones, then elevated his voice slightly and said, “Later, Bret.”
“See ya.”
She heard a disembodied echo from the pantry.
The rest of the day flew by. By 3:30 p.m. they had all of the food prepped and only had to put the sandwiches together tomorrow and heat the soup.
Sara left, stopping by Whole Foods on the way home. She snagged two fillets, some asparagus, some decent red wine, and some red bliss potatoes. Home by 4:15 p.m., she had time to take a hot bath, and get ready.
After starting the potatoes to boil at 5:45 p.m., she was working on the asparagus when there was a knock at the door. Washing the food off her hands, she opened the door to find Deacon standing there with red tulips.
Smiling she said, “Hey. C’mon in.”
Holding the flowers out, he said, “For you.”
Flushing, she said, “Thank you. Let me put these in some water.”
Reaching into the cupboard above her fridge, she slid the vase closer to her so she could grab it, when suddenly long arms reached up and picked up the vase for her. Feeling his body behind hers, she was tempted to turn around. Instead she took the vase, then turned to the sink and filled it with water.
Trimming the end of the flowers, she set them on the mantel, where Smitty wouldn’t be tempted to eat them. Turning, she walked back over to Deacon and slid her arms around his waist. He pulled her close and pressed a lingering kiss to her mouth. Sara’s arms slid up to his shoulders, though the kiss didn’t deepen.
Then, backing away, she nodded her head toward the kitchen and said, “I’ve got food cooking.”
“I’m not going to be eating by myself, am I?”
“No, no. I’m going to eat too. I’m making steak au poivre with asparagus and mashed potatoes. Feel free to pull up a stool.”
“Sounds so much better than Hot Pockets.”
