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“Ah, Dean. Your boom-boom friend.”
“Don’t call him that, and it’s not like that anyway. It’s a thank-you for yesterday and for coming over to paint the porch.”
“Then shouldn’t the rest of the Shawshank crew be with him?” Daisy’s innocent expression didn’t fool her for one minute. “You know, there is an easier way to tell him thank you, and it doesn’t cost a fortune in food. You just take him to your room, get on your knees—”
“Jesus, I don’t want to hear this from you, because now all I can picture is my little sister doing that.”
“I could have read it in a book.”
Someone knocked at the door.
“Shit, how do I look?” Violet asked.
“Hmmm, it’s better if you don’t know,” Daisy said helpfully.
“You are such a brat.” Violet wiped her hands on her apron and headed for the door.
“I’m only trying to help you,” Daisy called after her.
Violet opened the door and found Dean standing on her porch with a brightly colored bouquet in one hand and a bottle of orange juice in the other.
“Sorry, if it had been dinner, I would have brought wine, but I figured this was more appropriate,” he said.
The gesture was so sweet, it caught her by surprise for a minute, and all she could do was stare at the bottle. She’d never had a man over for any meal, but somehow, she couldn’t imagine any of the men she’d dated d
oing the like.
And flowers. He’d brought her flowers.
Violet cleared her throat, trying to get rid of the lump in it. She’d never had a guy bring her flowers before. The urge to throw herself at him and give him a bone-crushing hug was overwhelming.
“Do you not like orange juice? I could run and get something else?”
Great, she’d taken too long to answer, and he thought she didn’t like it.
“It’s fantastic, thank you. You just caught me by surprise. We don’t get very many dinner guests, and . . . ” Stop rambling. “I love orange juice.”
Violet stepped back to let him inside, and he held out the flowers to her. “It smells really good in here.”
“Thanks, I just—” The oven dinged. “Excuse me a second.”
As she raced past Daisy, her sister said, “Aw, he brought you flowers.”
“Will you go make yourself useful and set the table?” Violet set the flowers on the counter and pulled on her oven mitts. She had her head in the oven when she heard Dean’s voice behind her.
“Were you expecting an army to come with me?”
Pulling out the cast-iron skillet, she set it on a hot pad and watched his gaze skitter from one full plate to the next.
“I know, I went a little overboard. I guess you should never cook when you’re hungry,” she said.
“It is awesome. Honestly, I appreciate all the trouble you went to. I haven’t had anyone cook for me since my mom at Christmas.” He snatched a piece of bacon and came up alongside her, munching on it. “What’s that?”
“Breakfast pizza. It’s a potato crust with eggs, peppers, cheese, onions, mushrooms, and spinach.”
“Hmm.” He had moved behind her and was currently bending over her shoulder, his hands resting on the counter, boxing her in. “That sounds amazing. Where did you come up with that?”
“My mom used to make it.” She hardly recognized the husky tone in her voice, but his proximity was driving her to distraction.
