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I stare out at nothing, thinking it through before answering. “Can I…cook you dinner?” I ask with a lift of my shoulder like it’s just a random idea, when in reality, I’ve been thinking about getting uninterrupted time with her all day.
Her brows furrow, and she nibbles on her bottom lip, drawing my eyes there. Not that I let them linger. Now’s not the time to be distracted. Instead, I wait patiently for Lucy’s response, hoping it’s a yes but almost certain it’s a no. She may be more comfortable around me, but I’m not stupid enough to think she’d want to come to my place after only a few days.
Her mouth curls up in the corners, and she frees her lip from her teeth as she sighs. “That actually sounds perfect. But it’s only four p.m.” She says the last bit with some sass, and I have to hold back my own sigh of relief.
“Good cooking takes time. Are you not familiar with a decent home-cooked meal,” I joke and then instantly regret it. I know nothing of her home life, but I know she’s been through something. “Sorry, that was—”
“You may have age on your side. But you did not just challenge me in the kitchen,” she says, and I rush out a laugh.Thank God.
“I don’t think I challenged you at all. But I’m assuming by that comment that you’re already judging me.” My brows pull as I mock annoyance, not that it fazes Lucy at all. Her challenging expression remains as I continue. “Also, I never told you my age.”
“Google is a wonderful thing, Wes Johnson. And while my brother may have the baking gene, you better believe I cancook.”
The sass, the confidence…it’s something she’s given hints to, but it’s finally shining through. My heart jolts as a sense of pride washes over me. Pride that I helped to bring this part of her back. Because I finally feel like I’m seeing the girl I met on the beach.
“I guess you can be my assistant then.” I shrug, trying to put off the vibe that I’m not at all affected by the playfulness she’s showing me.
“Hmmm. What are you making? Maybe I’ll just watch and mock you.”
“So that’s a yes to me cooking?” I say, ignoring her verbal jab.
“It’s a yes,” Lucy says with a small laugh before a shy look flashes across her face, and she brushes her hair behind her ear.
An hour later, Lucy moves around the counter and rips the salt from my fingers before backing away with her hands tucked behind her, her eyes alight with mischief. The sun gleams through the window, creating a halo effect behind her, and I have to fight myself to concentrate on the issue at hand and not on the fact that I want to kiss her right now.
“Give it back, Lucy,” I warn after snapping out of my thoughts, my tone only making her move a little faster.
“I’m putting it on the table where it belongs.”
“You’re not going to need it.”
“Everything needs it.”
We’ve been arguing over salt for the last ten minutes. Lucy doesn’t believe me when I say she won’t need to add anything extra to this meal. I’ve been helping Gran cook since I was a teen.
She shakes her head in skepticism but stops walking, giving me a chance to explain.
“Come here, and I’ll prove it,” I say, holding up a spoon full of my gran’s famous stir fry sauce. Famous to me, anyway.
Lucy pops her hip, crossing her arms across her chest. “Let me guess; I’ll close my eyes, ready for a taste, but feel your lips touch mine instead of that spoon. I know your kind,” she sasses with a flirtatious grin.
I almost drop said spoon as I choke on a laugh. “That thought hadn’t crossed my mind, but now that you mention it, I like the idea.”
“Ugh, fine. Give me a taste, but no kiss.”
I pout with puppy dog eyes as she walks over, but she remains unaffected until a smile lights up her face at the very last second. Lifting up on her toes, she presses her mouth to mine, smiling as she whispers against my lips. “Now, where’s this magic sauce?”
When we’ve finished eating, Lucy sits back in her chair and pats her stomach. “For the record, it could have used a pinch of something else, but I can’t put my finger on what.” She stares at the salt shaker on the table in front of her as she taps her chin in thought.
My eyes narrow as I watch her, waiting for her to laugh, but she holds strong.
“For the record, I think you’re wrong.”
At that, she laughs. “Agree to disagree?”
“Nope.” I refuse to believe that wasn’t the best sauce she’s ever tasted. “Maybe you need another taste.”
“I do, do I?”
