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I knew she was joking. She loved children, as long as they weren’t hers. She said that while she did enjoy teaching, the thought of having her own kids hanging off her legs was not one she was interested in.
I ran to the store and picked up the few ingredients that I still needed and returned home to prepare our dinner. I loved to cook and spent much of my shift at the firehouse helping in the kitchen. I hoped that Roxy didn’t expect me to bring her fancy cuisine from one of the local restaurants. I had a feeling that she would approve and maybe even appreciate my effort.
I hadn’t told anyone and didn’t plan on saying anything, but I had gone over to her house this morning and shoveled the snow from her walkway. One of our firefighters lived over there, and I knew that they were responsible for doing their own steps and sidewalk, unlike some developments that had a service to do it for them. I wasn’t sure if her brother or father would have thought of that, and I didn’t want her to slip and fall getting into the house. The last thing she needed to do was tear her stitches.
I had some red and white sauce already made. It just needed to be thawed, and I packed them with all the groceries I would need to take to her house. Hopefully, she would have the necessary kitchen tools to make the meal. She might not be pleased about the fact that I wasn’t just bringing her dinner, but I was going to cook it for her there. As I collected the last of what I would need, I glanced at the red wine bottles in my rack. Probably not a good idea if she was taking pain medications.
Without the wine, I loaded everything into my truck and headed to Roxy’s house. I was pulling up when my cellphone pinged, and I glanced at the message to see it was from Roxanne, and she said the door was open and to just come in. Well, that would make it easier. I unloaded my parcels and climbed the steps to her front door. After a quick knock, I opened the door.
“Roxanne, it’s Lee. Can I come in?” I shouted into the house.
I heard her laugh. “I did just send you a message saying the door was open. Come on in.”
I closed the door and set the bags down to remove my hiking boots. Setting them off to the side near a pair of her shoes, I grinned to myself. I kind of liked my footwear next to hers. Man, if Riley heard that thought, she’d bust my balls. Hell, all my siblings probably would.
I collected the bags again and made my way down the hall. “Where are you?”
“Back in the living room on the couch. Sorry that I didn’t greet you, but my body doesn’t want to move right now.”
I set my stuff on the counter in her kitchen and turned toward the living room. Her head peeked over the back of the couch, and she waved at me before her gaze went to the bags. “Holy cow! Do you think I eat that much?”
I chuckled as I removed my jacket and hung it off a chair around her small kitchen table. I joined her in the living room and took a seat on the ottoman beside her. “No, I don’t think you eat that much, but I wasn’t exactly sure what you might like to eat. I know you said Italian, but I didn’t know what kind you preferred, so I brought a selection.”
Her brows rose, and she smiled softly. “Really?” She sniffed the air. “How come I can’t smell it?”
“Because I need to cook it still.”
The smile disappeared, and she cocked her head. “You plan on cooking me dinner? I expected a plate of lukewarm spaghetti or something.”
“No spaghetti, and I hope you don’t mind me using your kitchen, but I find that fresh food is much better than takeout.”
Her jaw had dropped slightly. “You really cook?”
“I do.”
“Wow, I’m stunned.”
I laughed. “Why? You don’t think men should cook?”
She put her hand up. “No, I love that you cook, but you don’t have to go through all that trouble.”
“I want to. I enjoy cooking.”
“Okay,” she said slowly. “What are you making me?”
“Well, do you eat chicken?”
“Of course I do. Did you really take me for one of those plant-eater types?”
I chuckled. “No, I actually didn’t, but you never know. Since you aren’t a plant-eater type, I’m going to make chicken parmesan, and would you prefer red or white sauce? Normally, red is better, but if you prefer a white sauce, we can have that.”
She stared at me and then began to laugh, but she quickly put her hand up to her face to brace her nose. “Please, do not make me laugh.”
I chuckled. “I wasn’t aware that I’d said anything funny.”
“Tell me something,” she said after she’d removed her hand from her face, and I took a moment to study her. The bruises around her eyes were darker, and her skin looked rather pale against them, but she was still a beautiful woman. “Is the sauce from a jar?”
“Nope, all made fresh, although I will admit, I pulled them both out of the freezer before I came over. I made large batches a couple weeks ago and froze most of it.”
