“Oh yes, I love it! That duke is just to die for.”
“Good.” I smiled and looked down to pretend to mark my page. The book was upside down.Fuck. My sight flew to him. He was quite bemused. Well crap. I fluffed it off as nothing and stood, leaving the duke waiting for me on the office chair while he set the table. “I rolled over here for better light. The food is done. Let’s eat.”
He gathered the plates and placed them on the table while I removed my creation from the oven. Placing it on a trivet with a red chicken on it, I stood back to let him gush over the meal.
“Looks good,” he said as he sat down and dug into the casserole with a battered blue serving spoon. I beamed. He glanced up at me, cheesy zucchini squash halfway to his plate, then tipped his head to the left. “Thank you. This was…unexpected.”
“You’re welcome. I like to do nice things for people.” I sat down, placed a paper towel over my thighs, and held up my plate. “Can you serve please?”
“Oh, sure.” He moved the spoon filled with casserole toward me. I lifted my plate, smiling sweetly as he dropped a huge serving onto my plate. “More?”
“Gods no, but thank you,” I replied, placing my chipped plate down in front of me. He spooned himself a couple of servings and then tucked in as my British friend Carlisle would say. The man ate incredibly quickly, forking food in with speed, negating the chance of real conversation as he always had his mouth filled. “What do you think?”
His sight flew from his plate to me. He swallowed roughly. “It’s good.”
Internal Decker applauded. “Thank you. Our cook used to make this as a side dish whenever we had Cobb salad with Kakavia soup for dinner. My great-grandparents were from Greece. On my mother’s side, obviously, as my father is a Fitzgerald. Mom was always requesting dishes from there. My great-grandparents hailed from a small village outside Kefalonia. Where are your family’s roots in Greece?”
“Kavala.” His tense expression softened. “They came to America when they were newlyweds, barely in their twenties. They wanted to live somewhere with four seasons where they could raise kids, goats, and tomatoes. And so they found Miller’s Lake and settled here to open their restaurant.”
Okay, why the flickity-flick was that not in my report?! Frank Jr. had to have read over the files and omitted key things just to make me look stupid. What other explanation could there be? Gah. I was going to ream him a new butthole when I spoke to him next. The jerk. Big, fat, jealous jerk. It’s pretty damn bad when your only brother is working to sabotage you.
“That’s lovely.” I blew over a steaming hot forkful of cheesy zucchini. “Are you and your sister the only children they had?”
“Yeah, Mom had some problems after giving birth to Cassie, and so their dreams of a large family were dashed. They adopted me a year after my sister was born.” He took a drink of water, his throat long and graceful as a swan. My sight glued to his throat.
Hey, Dick, want to take a small break while Brain works on digesting a big news flash. Kay. Thanks. Bye.
Oh.Oh!Oh. He’s adopted. Okay, that explains why he looks nothing like his sister. Nor much like most of the Greeks that I’d seen or spent time with, and there were plenty on Mom’s side of the family. Other than Athena, the goddess of wisdom and war, most Greeks didn’t possess gray eyes.
“How wonderful of them to open their hearts to you. I can tell you’re quite close to them just from the way you speak.” He nodded, eyeing me warily now. “You say they have a restaurant in town? As soon as they’ve cleared the roads, we should go visit them! I’d love to meet them and sample some of their dishes.”
He stared right through me for several long seconds. It was becoming worrisome when he exhaled theatrically. “I’m going into town tomorrow for feed and the party at the fire hall. If you wanted to come, you can.” My mouth fell open for a second. Oh. My. Gosh. He was asking me to go to town with him. What a major breakthrough in our tenuous relationship! “Not that I figure a big city boy like you would want to rub shoulders with a bunch of hicks, but—”
“What? No, I would love to see the town and go to the Christmas party! What a great idea. I did bring some nicer clothes. Oh! So, the roads are cleared now?”
“Yep.” He went back to eating, his gaze now remaining on his food.
“Splendid. I suppose I’ll be able to get to my motel tomorrow then.”
“Probably.” He seemed rather blasé about losing me as a bed buddy.
“Good. Good then. I’m sure I can just drive here and back to town for my workdays. Bitsy will be glad to have me gone.” I peeked at him through my lashes.
“Yep.”
Damn it. He was supposed to say he’d not be glad to have me gone. I sighed and poked at my meal with my fork. This man was the hardest man to make friends with on the entire planet. Maybe even the solar system. Martians would be friendlier. And they always arrived here and tried to take over the planet. Which makes them rather unfriendly, but when they first drop out of the skies, they’re pretty nice. That explains it. Acosta Melios was a Martian. A sexy AF Martian, but a Martian just the same.
“Awesome. That’s settled then. Will we be stopping by your family’s eatery for dinner? It’s been forever since I had a good homemade Greek meal. I miss my grandmother Lydia. She used to make the most wonderful moussaka with lamb.”
“Mom makes a vegan lentil that will cure you of needing meat in your meals.” His gaze met mine for a moment. It looked like a challenge in his eyes, but I was not going to bite. I was here to make friends and get his name on that contract. “We won’t be going to the restaurant, though. They’re catering the food for the party.”
“I hope I get to try it. This dish here was darn good if I do say so myself.”
“And your moussaka will be as well.”
“You know it!” I grinned at him. He smiled back. My silly belly flipped and then flopped all that sauce and cheese. After I dabbed at my mouth with my paper towel, I placed it over my empty plate. “I didn’t make anything for dessert.”
“It’s fine. I have something.” He chewed his final bite, rose, and went to the cupboard, took out a jar of honey followed by a small container of some sort of spice, and turned the oven back on. I stood and padded over to watch, staying close enough that he had to brush past me a few times when he went to the fridge to find some pears and then came back to slice them into halves. I jumped up on the counter as he placed the pears on a cookie sheet, smothered them with cinnamon, honey, a dash of vanilla extract, and some crushed walnuts. Into the warm stove the four halves went. “Be ready in about fifteen minutes,” he informed me, licking the honey from his fingers.
