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He uses one finger to tilt my chin up before cupping it, his finger sweeping along my skin, and his emerald-green eyes scream determination while he appraises me as if I were an expensive item he was debating on purchasing. “I’m sweet when necessary, dear neighbor, and as you’re well aware, not sweet when necessary.”
Is he flirting with me or threatening me?
I don’t catch my breath until he drops my chin and turns away. I glance around the kitchen, debating on if I should leave.
“We should get started. You’re not bailing before dessert,” he says. He snatches his beer again and points at me with it. “What’s your drink of choice?”
“Water, please.”
Alcohol combined with Kyle is a bad idea unless my plan is to drop my panties or throw up on him—or possibly both.
“Water it is.” He opens the fridge and draws out a bottle of wateranda wine cooler before holding the cooler up. “In case you do want a drink, I snagged a few of these. When my sister was a teenager, she’d sneak and drink them. There’s hardly any alcohol in them. Serving you anything stronger might result in you painting my walls with the wonderful dinner I’ve prepared for us.”
His joke eases me, and I smile. “With the hangover I’m suffering from, I don’t even want to think about consuming alcohol.”
He settles the drinks down in front of me, and a pleasant smell covers the room when he opens the oven, drags out a pan, and places it on the island. I push forward on my toes to get a better view.
My attention flies to him. “You cooked this?”There’s no way.
Chicken coated with spices, vegetables, and potatoes are in the pan. My stomach growls at the sight. I haven’t had a home-cooked meal like this since last Christmas with Kent’s parents.
“Negative,” he answers. “My mother did. I’m heating it up. It has to count for something, right?”
I can’t help but smirk. “Aw, how cute. His mommy made dinner for his forced non-date.”
He drops the oven gloves on the counter and smiles at me. “Shove it, Fieldgain. My mother’s cooking is the fucking best and is better than anything I can pull together. I prefer to impress you, not give you food poisoning.”
I tilt my head his way. “Appreciate that.”
I drag out a breath, watching Kyle move around the room to gather up everything. It’s hot. He’s not the chef tonight, but he’s no stranger to the kitchen.
He prepares our plates, grabs the silverware, and directs me to the four-person table across the room.
He takes the chair next to me when everything is situated. “How was your day, honey?” His fingers circle around the neck of his beer, and he takes a drink while waiting for me to answer.
I narrow my eyes his way. “Don’t make this all domestic.”
He’s not thrown off his game at my response. “All right then, how the fuck was your day, you goddamn pain in the ass?”
I shrug. “Now, that brings me back to my dinners as a child.” At least, when my mother wasn’t too drunk to sit with us.
“Same.”
I raise a brow at the same time I snort. “Yeah, right. The Lanes are the picture-perfect family.” I cough. “I mean, it’s what everyone says. I wouldn’t know.”
He sets down his beer and leans back in the chair. “Looking in from the outside? Sure. Inside? No. My mother and father despise each other. They’re experts at hiding it in public.”
His parents not having a healthy relationship isn’t surprising. His father is an asshole. Most people in this town, friend or foe, wouldn’t dare mutter a bad word about the mayor. The people on the lower end of the totem pole, we speak about him. It might be in hushed whispers, but it’s known that his father isn’t a stand-up gentleman.
“Dig in,” he says, breaking me away from my thoughts. “We only have an hour.”
I take the first bite and moan.
It’s delicious.
I’d so hire Kyle’s mom as my chef if I ever won the lottery.
“This is amazing,” I comment before taking another bite.
