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Boots gave him a slow blink.
“Yeah, we definitely should. You watch the stove. I’ll be right back.”
***
Avery grabbed her library bag from the blue Jeep and headed toward her apartment. Though the lunch with her family had been heavy, she now felt extraordinarily light. Maybe she hadn’t planned on doing the big reveal today, but it was over now.
Plus, she was set for two weeks with her library haul and in possession of the book she’d had on hold for more than a month. She could definitely put her Jane Austen marathon on pause for a while. Oh, and a freshly cooked supper awaited her upstairs.
All in all, not a bad day.
Avery took the steps and opened her door. The savory smells of garlic and yeast greeted her. Steam rose from a pan on the stove, but Wes was nowhere to be found. She closed the door and dropped the library bag on the couch. “I’m home!”
Boots pranced across the living room, and she swept her up in her arms.
A stranger popped up from behind her kitchen island.
Avery jumped. A scream crawled up her throat.
Then her gaze locked on familiar blue eyes. Wes. She stifled the scream and threw a palm against her thrashing heart.
He held up his hands, palms out. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you. I was just checking on the bread.”
She made an effort to slow her breaths as she took in this barely recognizable man. His bushy beard had concealed a set of chiseled cheekbones and a very masculine jawline. His mustache had hidden a very nice upper lip.
His hair had also been cut. The faded style was very short at the nape but kept a little length on top. He looked... as if he belonged on the cover ofGQ. Or perhaps—since he was currently sporting her favorite apron—Bon Appétit.
“You shaved.” There was all that higher education at work.
He rubbed his face as if just remembering. “Stopped by the barber while I was in town. Tired of all the scruff.”
Oh, and he had a cleft chin also. Good heavens. Avery blinked and set down the cat. “You look so different, I hardly recognized you.” She still had a good case of tachycardia going, but it was no longer shock that had her circulatory system in overdrive.
“I was definitely starting to resemble a caveman. Too hot to have all that hair anyway.”
“I imagine so.” She approached the kitchen. The evening light cast a golden glow over the table setting. He’d picked flowers: red cardinals and white asters. Her everyday plates and paper-towel napkins kept it casual. “How nice. Everything looks wonderful. And smells good too.”
“It’s just pasta—nothing fancy. Oh, shoot. The breadsticks.”He whipped on a glove and opened the oven. “They’re a little overdone.”
“It’s my policy to appreciate any food I don’t have to cook myself.”
“That’s a relief. I may have overstated my cooking abilities. I’m a little out of my element here.”
A few minutes later the food was on the table. Avery wound the spaghetti around her fork. She’d purposefully eaten little at lunch to save her appetite, and she was ravenous now.
“It’s delicious,” she said a moment later. The garlic and oregano balanced the tang of the tomato sauce.
“I should’ve made a salad to go with it.”
“You’ve seen my typical supper—I’m lucky to fire up the stove once a week. This is a treat.” She grabbed a breadstick, took a bite, and closed her eyes. “Bread is my weakness. Well, that and brownies.”
“Not that I snooped or anything, but I did notice four boxes of brownie mix in your pantry.”
She jutted out her chin. “They were on sale.”
“No judgment here. I’ve been around enough to know sometimes a girl needs her chocolate.”
She tried to find offense, but well, it was true. “Fair enough.”
