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A moment later she heard Jim’s deep, rich voice say, “Hey, gorgeous. Have you eaten yet?”
“You seem very concerned with my eating habits, Jim,” she said, smiling now.
He laughed and said, “You guys don’t eat unless someone feeds you. You’ve been here all day.” Pausing, he said, “Let me guess. You haven’t eaten.”
“Haven’t had time,” she said, “Besides, it’s only six. Oh. Wow. I should eat.”
“See,” he said, chuckling now. “I’m here late tonight. I’m ordering in. Are you and Tom interested?”
“It’s just me, now. I sent Tom home. His daughter had some kind of award ceremony at school,” Elle said. “But, yes. I am totally interested. Where are you ordering from?”
“I was thinking Chinese?” Jim said, a question in his voice.
“Yes, please. Lemon chicken and white rice, or sweet and sour if they don’t have that. Let me know what I owe you,” she said.
“Okay,” he said, “I’ll bring it to you when it gets here. They’re usually about an hour for delivery.”
“Sounds good. See you then. Bye.”
“Bye,” he said, and then disconnected the call.
Elle set the phone back in its cradle and leaned against the desk for a moment. Thinking back, she realized this might be the first time that she’d actually be alone with Jim. Should be interesting to see how this played out.
She moved back into the kitchen and started pouring the stock into the pan. She’d finished the tomato soup already. She was letting it cool down now, then she’d pour it into a container. She would just add asiago and fresh basil tomorrow, then reheat it.
The next hour flew by as she worked on the clam chowder. Setting down the spoon, she moved back to the tomato soup. Judging it cool enough to put into the refrigerator, she grabbed the handles of the stock pot and started to pour it into a storage container.
Jim breezed through the door as she was finishing. Like always, she totally lost her concentration when he walked into the room. Soup sloshed over the side of the container. She cursed roundly, as the soup scalded her hand.
Turning to the sink, she turned the water on and rinsed the soup off of her hand. Jim hurried over and said, “Shit. I’m sorry. Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” she said, “I’m just a klutz. It’s not your fault.”
Jim looked at her and said, “That looks really red.”
Elle waved her hand and said, “Not too bad. The soup wasn’t that hot.”
He reached out and put his hand on her wrist, gently steering her hand back to the sink. Turning the water on cool, he moved it back under the stream. They stood there for a few moments, his hand circling her wrist as she let the water run over it.
Reaching out with her other hand she turned the water off and said, “It’s fine now. I promise.”
“You’re sure?” he asked, concerned.
Rolling her eyes now, she said, “Yes. I’m sure. I’m totally fine. I burn myself quite frequently. It’s part of the job.”
He eyed the red blotch on her hand and frowned again, unconvinced.
“Would it make you feel better if I put something cold on it?” she asked.
“If it’s not a lot less red after we eat, then yes,” he said.
“We?” she asked.
“Yeah, we. I’ve tried to get you to go out with me a couple of times now. I figure this is the only way you’ll let me buy you dinner,” he said with a grin.
She smiled now. He was such a flirt.
“You know. If you keep asking, one of these days I’m going to think you’re serious, Jim,” she said, moving toward the food he’d set on the counter. Then she asked, “Which one of these is mine?” as she rifled through the brown paper bag.
