Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
When Ava’s eyes met Cammie’s, her friend said, “Ava doesn’t embarrass easily.” Then she added, “Everyone’s making something out of nothing.” She held Ava’s gaze. “After all, what’s in a look?”
Good God. They’d seen her looking at Ransom. Probably way too many times.
But it couldn’t be just that. Someone must have said something. Not Gabby. First of all, Gabby would never say anything to anyone. Second of all, her sister was consumed with perfecting her cake. She hadn’t spent more than half an hour outside the kitchen, and that was just to witness the wedding vows and to gulp down Ransom’s special marinated tofu and vegetables at her assigned table.
And it wasn’t Ava’s secretive looks.
That left only one person. Ransom.
“Hold that thought,” Ava said. “I need to powder my nose.”
She would have made it to the kitchen if Clay hadn’t stepped into her path. She did not like the look on his face. She liked even less the first words out of his mouth. “Is there something between you—”
She held up her hand a millisecond before he could say Ransom’s name. Leaning in close, her voice deadly, she said, “If I were you, I wouldn’t go where I think you’re going.” She paused a beat to let that sink in. “As you well know, my personal life is my own.”
Clay shut his mouth as if Ava had suddenly become an alien. She took the opportunity to add, “Not that you deserve an answer. But if I were to give you one, the answer would be no.” She marched around him, turning at the last minute to say, “I’m on my way to the ladies’ room to powder my nose. Don’t even think about following me and adding one more word to what you’ve already said.” Not that she’d let him say much at all.
She opened the kitchen door, stepped inside, and found such a flurry of activity that she almost walked right back out.
But there was Ransom, wearing an apron. An actual damned apron.
She crooked a finger at him. He slowly, deliberately, pulled the apron over his head and laid it on the counter, never taking his eyes off her. The racket in the kitchen seemed to go quiet, too quiet. She couldn’t bear to see who else was there. Instead, she headed out the front door, closing it when Ransom stepped out with her.
She did not need witnesses for this conversation.
“Did you say anything to anyone about that night at the Motel Y? Because Clay just asked me if there was something going on between us.” She was trying to remain calm, even though she could feel her blood rushing through her ears.
He said smugly—yes, with actual smugness in his tone, “But nothing happened at the Motel Y.”
Nothing happened? She wanted to say that something had happened. Everything had started to change.
“But,” he said, “I don’t think it’s been that hard for anyone to figure out.”
“Why on earth would you say that?” But she was afraid she knew the answer. Even the ladies were making wisecracks.
One eyebrow raised, he said simply, “Longing glances are hard to ignore.”
She wanted to shake a finger at him, but she was still holding the espresso martini, and it was too good to spill. Dammit, she should have dropped it off in the kitchen before she started this. But she said with the same force she used on Clay, “I wasn’t giving you any longing glances.”
She wanted to slap that smile right off his face. “Maybe you weren’t,” he said. “But I sure have been sending them to you.”
She took a step away, her back against the door. Her throat was dry, and she gulped a quarter of the espresso martini. “But it’s just business between us.”
He took back the extra step she’d tried to put between them and said, so softly it was like a caress, “You know damned well this isn’t just business anymore.”
She tried to say something, but her throat clogged up. And she had to gulp the martini. Next to a champagne cocktail, it was one of her favorite drinks. Her damn favorite cocktail—of course it had been on the bar menu. It was so good, she felt a little wobbly after all the champagne and now this.
She threw it all back at him, at least figuratively. “What’s up with you making all my favorite foods for dinner?”
He arched an eyebrow. And there was that smile again. “Do you really need me to explain that to you?”
She’d seen it for what it was, then. A foodie’s love letter. She’d been afraid when she called him, but she couldn’t have done anything else. Gideon needed help. But this—all her favorite appetizers, her favorite drinks, her favorite entrées, soups, even the damned salad.
She felt as if she might topple off her high heels.