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“Can I tell you something?” She asked.
“What’s that?” Lance passed her another plate.
“Great dinner.” She pointed to him with her free hand. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
He laughed. Water rushed out of the faucet as he rinsed another plate. “I’ll take the compliment, anyway.”
“Can I ask another question?”
“Shoot.”
Chantelle pointed to his face, but she didn’t touch him. “What made you grow this?”
“Don’t like it?”
“It’s... different. Not bad, though. It’s just...”
“Just what?” He passed her a glass.
Chantelle dried it but cleared her throat. “You’ve grown into a great man.” Then she stared up at him. “I’m happy for you.”
He shut the water off and stared at her. Chantelle’s eyes were soft. She’d grown too. Could he say that? Would she take it wrong? “I wasn’t expecting you to say that.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
He shook his head. “No, not that.” He exhaled. “What I wanted to say was, you’ve come into your own. It looks good on you.”
SMASH! Chantelle shrieked. Lance didn’t notice the glass slip from her hand, but spotted the broken pieces on the floor.
“I’m sorry. I guess I lost my grip.” She covered her mouth.
“Don’t move.” Lance stared at her opened-toed shoes. “Did the glass hit you?”
“I don’t thi
nk so. Let me—” Her breath caught when he picked her up and sat her on the counter. “Lance, I’m okay.” She bent forward and checked her foot. “Nothing cut me.”
He inspected her foot to make sure. He heard her gasp when he touched her ankle, but he wouldn’t read into it. “Stay here.”
Lance walked over to the pantry and grabbed the broom. He swept the area clean, hearing the shards of glass scrape the floor.
Chantelle sat with her hands on her thighs. “You won’t let me help at all?”
He grasped the smooth broom handle as he swept. He tossed the broken pieces in the trash and returned the broom to the pantry. Then he stood in front of her. “You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m okay. Can I get down now?” Her hands gripped the edge of the counter.
Lance reached forward with his hands at her waist. He helped her as she stood to her feet. Her curls tickled his chin, but he swallowed.
“Thank you,” she said. Did her voice sound breathy?
“You’re welcome. That could have been worse.”
She looked up at him. “I... um... should probably call it a night. Thanks for dinner.”
Lance bobbed his head. He couldn’t speak with his pulse racing. Chantelle stepped away, grabbed her purse, and waved goodnight. Lance released a deep breath. He couldn’t be that close to her—not again.
Chapter 15
