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“That’s Trevor. He’s mine. And yes, he lives here. You’d better get used to it.”
He waited for her to freak out. For her cheeks to pale and her tongue to trip over itself, but she just smiled and said, “That’s cool. I love dogs, especially big ones. He looks like a lovable goober. Can I meet him later?”
He grunted. “Suppose so.”
Shaking his head, he wondered what to make of this woman. She came across as a jumpy, jittery mess one minute, but a warm, competent person the next. Which version of Hope was real?
* * *
Was being attractedto scruffy beards and tattoos a side effect of being abused by a clean-shaven man with virgin skin?
Megan would have to look into that, because she was finding herself impossibly attracted to the surly cook. Everything inside her was so mixed up that she didn’t know how to act around him—or anyone else. It was like a tornado had whipped through the emotions she’d contained so carefully over the past few months and sent them spinning wildly out of control. She’d been a brittle pane of glass, and now she was spider-webbed with cracks. Her words felt foreign in her mouth, and when she moved, her movements were jerky, as though there was a disconnect between her brain and her limbs. She imagined this was how it would feel to be a ghost inhabiting someone else’s body.
The only thing that made sense was baking. Sheneededit. And heck, chopping vegetables and cracking eggs was hardly what she most wanted, but the rhythm was familiar and for the first time in days, her hands had stopped trembling. So she ignored the way Tione cast sidelong glances in her direction, and the long silences that could have been awkward if she were the type who needed to fill them.
Long silences were nothing new to her.
While Tione blind-baked the pastry, she beat milk and eggs together, then whisked in the vegetables and grated some cheese.
“You know what you’re doing,” he said, not for the first time. He was probing for information, but she wasn’t about to offer any.
“Quiche is delicious but simple.” She stood back as he grabbed the pastry, poured the filling into the case, and returned it to the oven. “Have you made the filled rolls yet?” She wasn’t ready to return to her bedroom, where there would be nothing more than her thoughts to occupy her. She’d pondered where she’d veered off the tracks enough for one lifetime.
“No. The rolls are in the pantry.” He hung the oven mitts from a nail in the wall and pointed. “Can you cut them open?”
“Sure thing.” She collected the paper bag of rolls from the pantry and sniffed. The scent of freshly baked bread was one of her favorites, and if she wasn’t mistaken, these had come from the bakery this morning. “These look good.”
“Hmm?” He glanced over. “Oh, yeah. They’re from Cafe Oasis in town.”
Cafe Oasis. Perhaps if Charles didn’t come for her, she could find work there. She’d need a job before long. She didn’t have much money—only what she had left over from spending the cash she’d managed to hoard on an ancient car.
With precise movements she cut the bread rolls and stacked them on a tray, then hovered, unsure what to do next. “Um…”
“Shred the lettuce.”
He wouldn’t win any awards for his manners, but she appreciated him directing her. This was his kitchen, not hers. She was playing sous chef. She made short work of the lettuce, and between the two of them, lunch was ready with time to spare.
“Thanks,” he said as he washed his hands.
“No problem. I like to feel useful.” Especially since she was finally able to do something after playing the part of the perfect Stepford girlfriend.
“You’re certainly that,” he said.
Swallowing her nerves, she put a little steel in her back, and looked him in the eye. “What do you usually do for dessert?”
More than anything, she wanted to bake. Cute little cupcakes. Cinnamon rolls. Souffles. Nothing fancy, just comfort food. The kind that wouldn’t have been up to Charles’s standards.
Tione checked a piece of paper stuck to the side of the fridge. “Apple crumble is what’s on the menu for tonight.”
She nodded, then winced at the sharp pain in her neck and head. “Can I help again, please?”
Crossing his arms over his chest, he cocked his head, looking perplexed. “Why?”
She told him the truth. “I need something to keep me busy.”
His dark eyes seemed to see more than she wanted them to. He knew she wasn’t telling him the whole story, but he didn’t press her. “Be back here at four.”
“I will.”
