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He opened it and found Olivia outside, her hair wet from a shower. She wore yoga pants and a white T-shirt. The water from her hair had dripped onto the shirt, making the spots on her shoulders transparent. He forced himself to keep his gaze on her eyes. Those were pretty too, rimmed with dark lashes. And her lips were glossy. Had she put on makeup for him?
“Sorry to bother you,” she said. “I can’t get the stove to work. Nothing happens when I turn the knobs, and now I’m afraid the thing is leaking gas, and I’ll end up causing an explosion that will burn down the kitchen.” She smiled. “I figured it was better to ask you for help.”
While she talked, the cat wandered up. He meowed and gazed at her. She bent down to pet him. “Hello there. You’re being friendly today.”
“He’s probably debating making a break for it.” Carson picked up the cat to ensure he didn’t. “He doesn’t like being cooped up, but I won’t let him out unless I’m outside. Too many wild animals around that might see him as prey.” The cat actually belonged to Lucas, pawned off on him by a friend because Lucas had a hard time saying no. Unfortunately, the cat fought with his roommate’s dog, so Carson had agreed to have him up here on the condition that Lucas came to the cabin on the weekends to help out.
Olivia petted the cat, making cooing sounds to him. “Aren’t you pretty? And extremely big. Is he part bobcat or something?”
“He’s a Maine Coon cat. They’re a large breed.”
The cat purred, lapping up her continued attention. Olivia was so soft and gentle while she petted the cat, nothing like the prickly demeanor she usually showed him. Her eyes lifted to his. “I wouldn’t have taken you for a cat person.”
He cocked his head. “Why not?”
“You’re a football player. I assumed football players would have—you know—big dogs that could rip someone’s throat out.”
“I think I should be insulted by that.” Carson scratched the cat’s chin. “And you should be doubly insulted, Mr. Fluff. She doesn’t think you could rip anyone’s throat out.”
“You didn’t name your cat Mr. Fluff.” Olivia seemed very sure on that matter.
No, but Carson was changing the cat’s name now. “You’ve made all sorts of judgments about me.” He dipped his chin down. “But I guess I already knew that.”
She widened her eyes, all innocence. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She knew what he meant. He put the cat down. “I’ll be back later, Mr. Fluff. I’ve got to go save my kitchen.”
Carson shut the door and headed toward the main house. Olivia kept pace beside him, sending him looks. Finally, she said, “I’m sorry for assuming you weren’t a cat person when you clearly are. There. I apologized. Will you accept it?”
“Yes.” He actually was more of a dog person, but he wasn’t going to admit that now.
“Good. That’s a pleasant change.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That means when I tried to apologize to you in high school, you told me off and never spoke to me again.”
His gaze whipped to her. “That’s because you got me suspended from football and our team didn’t go to state.”
“Yeah. I know. All your friends relentlessly reminded me of that fact.” The two were nearly to the cabin’s side door. She pushed ahead of him, opened the door, and went inside, fast-paced. The sort of pace he had trouble keeping up with. After a few steps, he stopped trying.
When he reached the kitchen, she was waiting by the stove, arms folded, looking sulky. What had his friends done? Couldn’t have been anythingtoobad. They’d never told Carson they’d hassled her. Okay, granted, one day after school, he and a few of his buddies had broken into her locker, filled it with empty beer cans, and called in an anonymous tip to the front office.
But the administration hadn’t even bothered checking her locker. She’d found the cans the next morning, and she and her friends had primly discarded them, talking loudly about how immature the football team was.
She couldn’t still be mad about that. People did that sort of thing in high school all the time. Practical jokes were what made going to school bearable.
He gave the stove a passing glance. “It’s not plugged in.”
“How do you know?”
“The pilot light isn’t on. Someone must have unplugged it.” He pulled the stove out a bit, then reached around behind it, and plugged it in. He pushed the stove back into place and turned a knob to check. After a click and a whoosh, a small flame appeared. “There. Should work now.”
“Thanks.” She was still folding her arms. Her full lips looked pouty.
He leaned against the counter. “What did they do?”
“Who?”
