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He spooned the fragrant mixture over his pilaf. “It sure smells tasty.” When they were both seated he tasted the chicken first. “Wow, that’s terrific.”
“I took a chance.”
“You’re a good cook.”
“No, I’m not. I mean…it’s nice of you to say that.”
Whatever had happened, he had a feeling she’d been spooked, or reminded of something unpleasant.
“Is everything all right?” he asked finally. “You seem edgy, as if something upsetting happened.”
Chelsea stared at her plate, moving the food around, separating the rice and veggies, then moving it back again. “It’s just something I’d rather forget,” she said at length. “Sorry if I’m bad company.”
He laid his hand over hers. “I think you’re fine company.”
The corners of her lips curved upward. Lord, she was pretty. For a man who knew it was best to move slowly, he was experiencing the temptation to make a headlong rush. Caution, he reminded himself. Caution. Besides, Chelsea didn’t need some guy bearing down on her.
He drew a deep breath. “If you ever just need to talk, remember you’ve got a friend next door.”
Her beautiful dark eyes rose toward his and she seemed to relax. “Thanks, Barton.”
Forcing himself to focus on his plate, he continued eating. It was one of the best meals he’d had in a long time.
* * *
CHELSEA’S SPIRITS ROSE as she and Barton began discussing cooking. Her lemon chicken recipe had come from a Spanish woman she’d known in college and they debated whether it was Spanish food, or simply a dish someone from Spain happened to make.
“She could have gotten the recipe from someone in the United States,” Chelsea pointed out.
“True. Or France, or the Middle East or Canada. Good food comes from all over.”
He truly seemed to enjoy the chicken, going back for seconds and eating every bite. Ron had been so critical of her culinary skills that she hadn’t known how to respond when Barton had complimented her.
Should she explain? Or would discussing it fall into the category of “she won’t shut up about her ex?” Some guys hated hearing about a former boyfriend. Barton had offered to listen, but she didn’t think she could face telling him what had happened.
The truth was, she felt horribly embarrassed about letting Ron manipulate her for so long. Each day that passed made her more aware that she should have walked out on him a long time ago. It wasn’t as if she’d still loved him; that had been over longer than she could remember.
Then a package had arrived late that afternoon at the agency. The postman, a genial middle-aged man who came by the agency each day, had grinned as he’d made a special stop to give it to her, joking that it must be from an admirer.
Hardly.
She didn’t know what was inside and had decided to return it unopened. That would send a clear message to Ron that she wasn’t interested in anything he did or had to say. If they’d been sharing an apartment she might have opened the box, in case it was something of hers. But she had resisted his attempts to move in and hadn’t even given him a key. Luckily her lease was up at the end of next month and Terri was putting everything in storage.
Chelsea knew she’d have to move the rest of her things up to Seattle once she had her own place. After all, she couldn’t stay in Nicole’s guesthouse forever.
Yet a different kind of anxiety nibbled at her when she thought of finding a new apartment. She liked living next door to Barton.
* * *
JORDAN FOUND HE couldn’t concentrate on the hockey game. He couldn’t even sit back and simply let it be a background to the evening. Instead he kept wondering where Nicole was having dinner and whether she’d invite her date back to spend the night at her house.
It was as if he’d regressed to being a jealous teenager.
And who wouldn’t be jealous? What red-blooded man wouldn’t appreciate the thought of spending the night with Nicole George?
Grunting, Jordan switched off the TV and lunged to his feet. There was no way he was going to reason his way out of the mental quagmire. So either he needed to take a cold shower, or to run until he was too exhausted to allow his imagination take over.
