Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
I gulped and glanced around the small kitchen in an effort to get my mind out of the gutter. His place had more character than any apartment I’d lived in. Maybe even more than my current multi-million-dollar house.
Bright plates with decorative patterns hung on the wall near a table for two under a small window covered with red Roman blinds. A colorful runner and whimsical accent pieces made the space feel homey. I’d been here for five minutes, and I already felt more relaxed than I had all day.
The stiff set of his shoulders and ramrod-straight spine hinted that Lorenzo didn’t feel the same. He put the spoon on a dish and opened the fridge.
“So…you’re here. In my apartment.”
“I guess I am.”
“This is weird,” he mumbled under his breath.
“Do you want me to leave?”
He shook his head as he gathered some ingredients and set them on the counter. “Don’t be silly. I invited you.”
“Actually, I invited myself when you bragged about this soup.”
Lorenzo chuckled. “That’s true.”
“Can I help?”
“Do you know how to make a salad?”
I cracked my knuckles and made a production of rolling up my sleeves. “Dude. I am hands down the world’s best salad maker. Ever.”
Lorenzo raised a brow. “Here you go…lettuce, tomatoes, cucumber, pepitas, avocado. Do you like those ingredients? Wait, before I attempt to feed you, are there any allergies I should know about? I don’t want to accidentally poison you and end up on the news.”
“Everything sounds good, and no allergies,” I declared, picking up the cucumber and smacking it on my palm.
“No playing with the cucumber, sicko. Here’s a bowl. Knock yourself out.”
I studied the lettuce and frowned. Tear or cut? Cut…probably. I reached for the knife he’d left on the cutting board and tried to decide where to start chopping—middle or end?
“Am I supposed to wash this first?”
“I did that already. But you do need to wash your hands.”
Right. I obeyed and spent more time than necessary drying them methodically as I peeked over his shoulder to watch him stir meatballs into broth.
“Smells good,” I commented.
Lorenzo quirked his lips in amusement. “You don’t know how to make a salad, do you?”
“Uh…I just haven’t done it in a while and the last time I did, I opened a bag and called it a day.”
“You can’t fail at this. Just chop everything and throw it into the bowl.” He squeezed my elbow and winked. “I believe in you, Pierce.”
I released a beleaguered sigh. “All right. Here goes nothin’.”
“So…did you happen to see the photo of us with the hunky firefighters on social media?” he asked as if to break an impending silence.
“No. Is it good?”
“Of you? Yes. I’m not sure how I got in the shot. Or how I ended up being called your assistant,” he huffed with mock annoyance.
My grin split my face in half. “Really? You work for me now? I like the sound of that.”
Lorenzo rolled his eyes. “I bet. My friends were freaking out. Don’t worry. I assured them it was the product of a weird confluence of coincidence.”
I let out a low whistle. “Confluence of coincidence. I’m gonna have to look that up. Um…I hate to ask, but do your friends know I’m here?”
He laughed. “No fucking way. First of all, I wasn’t sure you’d show up. Second, they wouldn’t believe me, and third…no offense, but…you’re not my type.”
I gasped and gestured behind me. “I’m gonna need help pulling that dagger from my back. What’s wrong with me?”
“Nothing at all. Your straight quotient is a tad high, though.”
I snorted. “I’m not straight.”
“No, but you probably like classic rock and have a thing for fast cars.”
“Well, yeah. So?”
“That’s…nice.”
I snickered. “By nice you mean…yuck. Right?”
“Don’t be so defensive. To each his own.” Lo smiled and pointed at the mess of lettuce in front of me. “Cut that a little finer.”
“Bossy, bossy,” I grumbled without heat, loving the melodic sound of his laughter.
We worked quietly, side by side, but it wasn’t a soothing form of silence. Not for me anyway. The air crackled with unspoken questions. What was I thinking? Why do I have butterflies? That sort of thing.
Seriously, I was a little dizzy, and my stomach felt wonky. There was nothing wrong with me, other than having a bad case of the stupids. It took a beat for me to recognize the signs for what they were.
I had a fucking crush on this guy.
That was so…weird.
“Do you ever do any cooking?” he asked, pulling me from my reverie.
“No. Never. I don’t usually have time.” I cut the cucumber into thick chunks and held one up. “Is this good?”
“Maybe a tad thinner.” Lo unwrapped a baguette, popped it into the oven, and picked up another knife, chopping the cherry tomatoes into even halves. “I didn’t know you rode a motorcycle.”
“Yeah. It’s the fastest and least conspicuous way to travel around town,” I replied, chomping on a piece of cucumber.