Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 71290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
“What won’t?”
I swallowed hard. I should have just let it lie. “Uh. The… kissing.”
His smile just got wider. “Because you’d run far, far away?”
I was absolutely going to explode.
“Because you’re straight, and you’re Red’s brother,” I said, my tone a lot firmer than I’d meant it to be.
I stopped walking.
A short silence filled the air, and I swore I saw a slight look of disappointment on his face again. Probably just my tequila-addled brain.
I had successfully derailed the conversation from light jokes into awkward seriousness. This was probably why I was so bad at social interaction.
“But yes,” I said quickly, “I also would be running straight to the phone to call the food police on you. For… terrible... pizza crimes.” It was a lame joke, but it was all I had.
Luckily, Rock took everything in stride. “I’ll keep my pizza habits to myself, I promise,” he said. “But I think you really do need some water. I came out here to check on you, actually. Red and Sam said they’d never seen you forget something in the oven like that—”
“Oh fuck,” I blurted out, realization hitting me like a brick.
I dropped my arm from Rock’s and immediately took off toward the front doors. “I’m sorry,” I called back to Rock. I made a beeline for the kitchen, already picking up the scent of burned chips.
Under the bright lights in the kitchen, I found Isobel cleaning some charred bits off of the oven grates. Red was nearby.
“It’s fine, everything’s fine,” Red said, waving me off.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I can’t believe I forgot.” The room was spinning a little. Water. I definitely needed water.
Tonight I’d found out about my brother’s divorce, fielded a phone call with my sobbing mother, and had to deal with a sexy straight firefighter, but letting something burn in my kitchen really took the cake.
My heart was pounding. I felt so out of control. I hated feeling like I wasn’t in control in my kitchen. It was usually the one thing I knew I had taken care of.
“We took care of it,” Isobel called out from where she was crouched by the oven. “Already got another batch going in the other oven for nachos.”
“Good. Okay. Perfect,” I said.
“I’m more worried about you, Perry,” Red said. “Be honest with me. What’s with all the tequila shots?”
I let out a long breath.
“He’s got a reunion from hell coming up,” Rock’s voice came from the kitchen doorway. The door swung shut behind him and he glanced around at the kitchen, looking like a kid in a candy store. “Holy shit, this place really is a fire hazard.”
“Be careful, Perry’s particular about his kitchen,” Red said, winking at his brother. “I’ve got to go help up front. Don’t bug my cook too much, Rock.”
“But I love bugging him,” Rock protested as his brother left the kitchen.
Isobel stood up, heaving out a sigh. “I’m going to take a five-minute break,” she said. “Perry, you owe me one. Next time I fuck up nachos, you’ve gotta clean the pan.”
“I know,” I said. “I’m sorry, again.”
Isobel grinned, squeezing my shoulder. “No biggie. I’ll see you in a few.”
She hung up her apron and disappeared through the door.
I was suddenly very aware that it was just me and Rock in here now. Another fizz of energy surged through me, and thoughts of the burned chips left my brain entirely. Having Rock in my space was both thrilling and strange.
“This basically looks like a spaceship. You know that, right?” He stared around at the huge hanging pot rack, the range, and the grill top.
“This is minimalist,” I said. “Just the basics. I’ve got all the knives I need, cookware, and some fire and heat.”
“Have you always been so good with food?”
“Is that a joke? Because I just managed to screw up nachos, of all things.”
Rock grinned. “That one wasn’t meant to be a joke, but it is kind of ironic.”
I walked over to the fryers and checked the oil. “I’ve cooked for my whole life. I think I was making dinner for my family most nights by the time I was ten.”
“Holy shit,” Rock said. “When I was ten I was still playing kickball out front with my friends.”
He was leaning on one of the refrigerator doors, his bad ankle propped out in front of him. He looked like he was already comfortable in here. It took me weeks to feel comfortable in a new place sometimes, yet Rock was cool as a cucumber in two minutes.
“Well,” I said. “My dad… wasn’t the best. He was an asshole to my mom. Didn’t really care about us kids. He yelled all the time.”
“Is that why you prefer keeping to yourself? Kinda quiet and strong, silent type?” Rock asked.
“I’ve never thought of it that way,” I said. “But yes. I think it is. I’d so much rather be called ‘too quiet’ than ever go back to that kind of chaos. My brother and I used to dread when Dad would come home from work every day.”