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He forced what he hoped was a bland smile. Then he took off his suit coat, undid the top button of his shirt, tugged at his tie, unbuttoned his cuffs, rolled up his sleeves …
“Why not make yourself at home?” Sage said in that same, sugar-laden voice.
He flashed another empty smile.
“Thanks,” he said, pulling a chair out from the table, “I will.”
She narrowed her eyes to slits as he sat down, stretched out his legs, crossed his feet at the ankles. When he folded his arms over his chest, she muttered something.
He wanted to laugh.
What she’d said was incredibly rude, especially coming from that soft-looking, sweet-tasting mouth, but he couldn’t blame her.
He agreed with the sentiment.
Talk about things being all fouled up …
The kettle screamed. Sage dumped tea bags in a pair of mugs. He hated tea—tea was for sick people—and this wasn’t even tea, it was herbal goop.
His sisters would have approved—and if there was anything he didn’t want to think about right now, it was his sisters. Or his brothers. Or anybody in his family.
Anger was busy tying his gut into a knot. Why not add herbal tea and all its connotations so that the knot could tighten?
“This,” he said when she plunked the mugs on the table, “is not tea.”
“It’s what I drink.”
“Ridiculous,” he snorted.
She looked at him. “Honey?”
“What?”
Her smile would have shamed the Cheshire cat.
“Do you take honey in your tea?”
“How about sugar?”
“I’ve given up white sugar.”
“No sugar. No tea. What are you, a health nut?”
She pulled out a chair, sat down across from him.
“I’m pregnant.”
“So we’ve established.”
“Are you stupid or just out of touch with reality? Pregnant women aren’t supposed to have caffeine! They’re supposed to watch what they eat! Natural foods! Organic foods! Honey! Herbal tea! Get it?”
He could almost see each exclamation point in the air.
“Oh.”
“Oh? Oh? Is that all you can say about making a horse’s ass of yourself?”
“Hey. I didn’t—” He cleared his throat. “I didn’t know. I mean, I don’t know anything about—about being pregnant …”
