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But how… Flashes of what had happened on Friday came back to her. She’d tried to call Mitch, she remembered. Even in her delirious state, he’d been the one she’d reached out to. Damn it, this love thing was making her do stupid things…
Mitch entered again, this time in a shirt, the denim one he looked so good in; she had trouble not staring at him. Today, the blue eye was nearly navy, the brown one just about black—exactly the way they were when she and Mitch had made love.
She and Mitch making love was so not something she should be thinking about. Inhaling, she grabbed the pan and turned her back on Mitch. “I… I shouldn’t have sent the message, please forget about it.”
“Riley…”
“And thank you for phoning Annie. Apparently, Craig then called Sally to come and look after Dylan. Everyone back in Marietta called this morning. Thank you for your help, but I’m fine now. You really don’t have to stay.”
Mitch chuckled. “Riley, sweetheart, there are more than enough pancakes for all of us. Why don’t you sit down and join us?”
Her phone rang. Thank goodness. If she had to sit near Mitch, she might just begin to drool.
“Excuse me.” Heading out of the kitchen, she answered the call.
Minutes later, still stunned, she walked back into the kitchen.
“Riley?” Mitch said, frowning. “Everything okay?”
She nodded, her head spinning. “I am. It’s just… the phone call? It was a gallery in Bozeman. They’d contacted me earlier this year about an exhibition over Christmas, one where photographers all over the country would showcase their work. I declined at the time, but now one of the artists has apparently dropped out and they want to know if I have something they could use. This Friday. They need two or three photographs, the rest—the enlargement, framing—they’ll do in Bozeman.”
“And? What did you say?”
“I’ll have to think about it. I don’t really do portrait studies. I focus on the clothes, the fashion, not the faces.”
“Your work is amazing, Riley—go for it.”
“I don’t know if I have something…” Staring at Mitch, an idea popped into her mind. What if… No, that was ridiculous; she could never do that.
Gathering his and Dylan’s plates, Mitch got up. “Why don’t you take your laptop and go back to bed. Dylan and I will clean up here before we head out to the park I saw nearby. We’ll also pick up some steaks I can grill tonight.”
“It’s really not necessary. You have to go back to Marietta…”
He walked closer, picked up her hand. “I’m here now. Let me help?”
*
It was nineo’clock in the evening before Dylan finally fell asleep. Mitch softly closed the bedroom door behind him. Yawning, he turned around. He’d nearly fallen asleep himself, but he had to speak to Riley.
He stopped in his tracks. Riley was standing in the door of the room he’d been using since his arrival. She was looking at something inside the room, a slight frown on her forehead.
He advanced slowly. “Something the matter?”
“Is that your suitcase?”
Nodding, he took her hand. “I was hoping to move into your room, but since you were ill, I’ve moved in here. Temporarily, I hope.”
Troubled eyes stared at him. “I don’t understand.”
“Let’s sit down…”
She pulled her hand from his. “I don’t want to sit down; I want to know why you are here, why you’ve brought a suitcase the size of a small room, and why you’ve looked after me.”
“All good questions and ones I’m happy to answer if you’ll answer one question I have.”
“Seriously, Mitch…”
“Just one.”
