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“Did you have fun with Mimi?”
He moved to the island she stood at. “As a matter of fact, I did. You were right. She’s quite the master gardener. Did you know she already has tomatoes on the vine?” He pulled a paper towel off the roll sitting on the counter, then took her chin in his hand. The feel of the baby-soft skin under that stubborn chin had him feeling lightheaded with the need to place his lips there. But he pushed down the desire and concentrated on gently wiping the tears from her cheeks.
Cheeks that now held a deep flush.
It seemed Liberty wasn’t immune to his touch either. He ran his thumb over her plump bottom lip and kept his voice low since the window was open that led to the porch. “I love sweet . . . ripe . . . tomatoes right off the vine.” He watched heat fill her eyes. But a split second later, it was replaced by a determined look and she pulled away.
“I bet you do. I’m sure you’ve had your fair share of sweet ripe tomatoes straight off the vine. Now as you can see, I’m pretty busy. So why don’t you head on into the living room and watch Wheel of Fortune until supper’s ready? I know how much you enjoy playing games.”
He did love a good game. But the best one was going on right here with Liberty. He rolled up the sleeves of his western shirt.
“Thanks, Libby Lou, but I happen to love helping out in the kitchen. In fact, why don’t you let me take over chopping those veggies? I’d hate for you to get more tears in your eyes and cut off one of those pretty little fingers.” He started to reach for the knife, but stopped short when she pointed it at him.
“No need. I’m an expert with a knife. But if you insist on helping me . . .” She used the knife to point at an apron hanging on a hook. “Why don’t you put that apron on, wash your hands, and start rolling some buns.”
His gaze lowered to the sweet curves of her butt in the tight jeans peeking out from the bowstrings of the apron. “Now you’re talking my language. Buns are my specialty.”
“Again, I’m not surprised.”
He laughed as he slipped on the apron and tied it. She laughed when he was finished.
“My, my, don’t you look pretty in blue ruffles.”
“You should see me in pink. It really brings out the red of my hair.” He rubbed his hands together. “Where are the buns? I’m ready to get at them.” Again, he eyed her butt. She just rolled her eyes and pointed the knife at a bowl with a dish towel over it.
“Have at it.”
Since he’d had to fend for himself at an early age, Jesse knew his way around a kitchen. But his cooking skills only went as far as easily prepared foods like box macaroni and cheese, frozen pizzas, and canned chili. Dinner rolls were beyond his culinary expertise. But he wasn’t about to let Liberty know that. Especially when she was watching him with a smug smile.
After washing his hands, he headed over to the dish towel-covered bowl and got to work. He knew what rolls should look like. He just didn’t know how to get them from the big ball of dough to the golden-brown fluffiness he loved. He figured you just grabbed a glob of dough and rolled it. How hard could that be?
It turned out to be harder than he thought. It wasn’t the rolling-them-into-balls part that was hard. It was more the getting-them-all-the-same-size part. Either he pinched off a piece of dough too big or pinched off one too little. By the time he’d finished filling the greased cookie sheet Liberty had given him, not any two rolls were the same size . . . or the same shape.
Something Liberty found quite amusing.
“If that’s what you think balls look like, I’m a little worried.”
“No need to worry. My balls are just fine.” He looked down at his misshapen rolls and scowled. They were pretty bad.
“Now there’s no need to look so depressed, darlin’.” She patted him on the butt on her way past. “We can’t all be good at handling buns.”
Despite his difficulty making dinner rolls, Jesse was enjoying himself. It wasn’t the cooking he was enjoying as much as watching Liberty. She had been right. She could cook. She had the chicken and vegetables in the oven in the time it took him to do half a tray of rolls.
But it wasn’t her expertise he enjoyed watching as much as her. Gone was the intense, bossy woman he’d seen in the pictures on the Holiday Sisters Events website and in her place was a much more relaxed, smiling woman.
Once the rolls were covered for the second rise, he leaned on the counter and watched as she added something to the cherry mixture she was making on the stove.
“Do you cook a lot in Houston?” he asked.
“Not as much as I’d like. I’m usually working until late at night so I grab something at whatever event I’m at or just have popcorn or a bowl of cereal when I get home.”
He hadn’t given much thought to the hours an event planner worked until now. Most events he’d attended were at night or on the weekends. “I guess your business doesn’t leave much free time?
She snorted as she made a salad. “Much? Try none. Belle and I work until late every night and all weekend. But that’s what happens when you run your own business. It’s up to you to make it a success.”
“Why event planning? You could run a business that has better hours.” From what he’d seen, she would be kick ass at running any business.
“Event planning was Belle’s dream.” She smiled. Not the smile she usually gave him. This smile was soft and filled with love . . . and caused an ache deep down inside him that he couldn’t explain. “My sister has always loved a good celebration. Holidays, birthdays, weddings, anniversaries. You should see her face when a bride walks down the aisle. Or a golden wedding anniversary couple redo their wedding vows. Or a ninety-year-old man blows out his birthday candles. She just loves to see people happy.”
