Circle on Home (Lost in a Boom Town Book 5) (23 page)

“That’s probably true.”

“I missed breakfast tacos when I was in New York.”

“I thought you could get anything in New York, and delivered, too.”

She stuck her tongue out at him and dragged a bean and cheese taco in front of her. “They weren’t the same. Something was always off. They never tasted like home.” She flicked a small plastic container of pico de gallo toward him and he poured it liberally on his fajita taco.
 

“What made you think about bringing in lunch?” he asked. He hadn't thought they were at a “drop-in” point in their relationship.
 

“I wanted to thank you for helping me the other day.” She took a deep drink of tea through a straw, her eyes cast down. “And I wanted to see you.”

He lifted his eyebrows and waited until she looked back at him. “Any particular reason?”

She met his gaze then, her cheeks pinker than when she’d come in, and she shook her head. “No. Do I need one?”

Okay, then. This was happening. He had to move some mental blocks out of the way, because it had been so long since he’d been in a relationship, had someone other than his family to consider. He was compelled to tell her about the missing medicine, since it had been on his mind all morning, but he didn't want to talk about it when someone might overhear.
 

“My desk chairs and bookshelves came this morning,” she said between bites.
 

He gave her a steady look across the desk. “And you want me to help you assemble it.”

She widened her eyes. “Of course that isn't the reason I came. But if you want to give me Ben’s number, I can hire him. Also not the reason I came.”
 

“No?”

“I have the house to myself tonight. I wanted to see if I could make you dinner tonight.”

“Make me dinner,” he repeated.

“I cook,” she said, apparently taking his comment defensively. “Not complicated, not great, but a home-cooked meal, I can do. How do you feel about pork chops?”

He hesitated, thinking of Selena. But he could call home and make sure they knew he wasn't going to be there. His dad or Ben could make sure she ate. And he’d just as soon not eat with his dad after their conversation last night anyway.
 

“Yeah, that sounds good. Can I bring anything?”

She smiled as she started wadding up foil and tossing it back in the bag. Something about the jerkiness of her movements gave away her nervousness.
 

“Just your appetite. I’ll let you get back to work.”

She wadded up the bag and stood.He stood too, and closed the door with a flip of his fingers. With the same hand, he curved his hand under her hair and tilted her head up.

Yup, nervous. He knew that look in her eyes. This time, though, he exploited it, bending his head just enough so the rush of his breath touched her lips a moment before his mouth did.
 

She parted her lips and he nuzzled closer, deeper, tasting the spiciness of the tacos mingled with the sweetness of the tea. And then her own taste, at once new and familiar.

Her eyes were dreamy as he lifted his head. He liked that look on her face, and wished he could keep it there.

“What time?”

“When are you done here?”

“Probably around seven. I have a full day when I’m in the office.”

“Okay.” She gave him a smile he’d seen before, when they were dating, sweet and innocent, kind of shy and uncertain. It gave him a twinge, both of sadness at what they’d lost and a twinge of hope for what they might have in front of them.
 

He opened the door, and his techs scattered, each going to a different exam room as if they hadn't been waiting for the door to open. He walked her to her car, and felt every eye from his office on them through the window. When he walked back into the office, he scowled, and dared anyone to make a comment.

Chapter Thirteen

Miranda pushed an escaping strand of hair back from her face and stared at the hot mess in the bottom of the skillet. The pork chops were okay, she thought, but all the seasonings were in little black balls on the bottom of the pan. At least she hadn't spent too much money on it at the grocery store, but maybe she should have borrowed one of Riley’s instead, because, shit. How was she going to make the sauce with this mess? She wished Riley was home to give her some pointers, but she was staying late at the bakery, which was part of the reason Miranda had invited Noah tonight.

Thinking about that was the reason she’d burned dinner. Maybe it was too soon to be thinking about taking him upstairs, but, well, she couldn't think of anything else. Sure, sleeping together again might be a mistake, so soon, but that kiss in his office…it had melted every second thought she might have had.

The thing was, how did Noah feel? She didn't want to sleep with him until she knew they were both sure. God knew she didn't want to step into another mistake.
 

The timer went off for the rolls in the oven, and she turned off the burner under the pork chops so she could pull the bread out.

Okay, they were still pale in the center. A nice brown around the edge, but cold to the touch in the middle. She frowned. They’d been frozen when she brought them home from the store, but she thought they’d thawed enough before she put them in. She shoved the pan back into the oven and grabbed the bag the rolls had come in.
 

Great. She was supposed to have let them thaw for an hour. Terrific. She wondered how much longer she could leave them in before the rest of the roll burned.
 

“Don’t let me down,” she said to the pan of asparagus she’d already sprinkled with olive oil and
 
parmesan.

The doorbell rang and she swore, looking from the clock on the oven to the t-shirt she still wore. She had pulled out something sexier to wear, but it was still upstairs. Great. She’d lost track of time and ruined dinner. That was not a good start to a seduction.
 

She turned everything off and hurried to the door to see Noah standing on the porch with flowers. The weather had warmed enough that he wasn't wearing a jacket, just a flannel shirt that stretched over his broad shoulders.

And flowers. She couldn't remember the last time someone had brought her flowers. Damian had sent her flowers, but it wasn't the same as seeing a big, strong man clutching a bouquet. And they weren't something boring like roses. No, it was a colorful collection of all kinds of flowers. He offered them to her before she stepped back and welcomed him into the house.

“Thank you. You didn't have to.” She mentally reviewed the kitchen and wondered if they even had a vase in the house. She’d find something to put them in. “They’re beautiful.”

“They made me think of you.”
 

She led the way into the kitchen. “I hope dinner is worth it. I don’t know what I did.” She waved a hand at the stove as she started opening cabinets looking for a container for the flowers.
 

“Let me see what I can do.” He stepped toward the stove and inspected the mess in the pan.
 

She couldn't find a vase, and the drinking glasses weren't big enough so she pulled a plastic pitcher from the cabinet and filled it with water.
 

When she turned around, he was pouring a bit of milk into the bottom of the pan and scraping at the blackened bits with a spatula.
 

She fluffed the flowers and joined him at the stove, where the blackened bits were coloring the milk and making a gravy.
 

“Is it ruined?”

“Nah, we can save it. What are we having with it?”

She motioned to the asparagus sitting on the back burners. “I’m going to put those in the oven. The oven!” She flung the door open, and the warmth seeped out, not as warm as it should have been. Of course it wasn’t. She’d turned it off when he arrived. And the rolls. She’d forgotten about them. Lord, what had she been thinking, inviting him to dinner when she hadn't cooked in so long?

“The center of the rolls are cold, too,” she said, hating her helplessness.
 

He glanced to the display on the oven. “Perhaps if you turn it on?”

She punched the buttons to turn it back on.
 

He put the spatula down long enough to flip the rolls over, so the browned part was facing up, the cold part on the pan.
 

“Let’s let the oven warm up a bit before we put those in. We might put these in something to keep warm, too, before I put them back in the pan.”

She found an oven-safe container for the pork chops, and she slid them into the oven along with the rolls. She let him fix what was looking like a pretty good gravy as she turned to set the table. When she finished, she looked down at her top.
 

“Do you mind if I run upstairs and change? I kind of underestimated the challenge of this meal.”

He glanced at her old UT shirt. “You look great.”

She dropped a little curtsy. “But I could look better. Do you mind?”

He turned back to the gravy and gestured with the spatula. “I’ve got this.”

She raced up the stairs, glad she’d already selected what to wear, so at least something tonight would go right.

Naturally Skipper was sleeping right in the middle of her black sweater on the bed.

“Seriously!” Her exclamation startled the kitten, who bolted under the bed, leaving nothing but a circle of hair on her sweater. “Of all the places you could have slept in here, you pick my sweater.”

Her own fault for leaving the sweater there, but still. She flung open the closet, hesitated for a couple of minutes before she selected a fitted shirt that might be a little chilly, but hey, looked better than the t-shirt she usually just slept in.

She fluffed her hair from her ponytail, inspected the boots that had seen better days, shrugged, and hurried back downstairs.

The kitten had somehow beaten her down the stairs and now twined between Noah’s ankles. The pan of asparagus had disappeared into the oven and the table had been set.

“I didn't think I was gone that long,” she said, crossing to the refrigerator and retrieving a bottle of wine she’d bought for the occasion. The grocery store in Evansville didn't have the biggest selection, but this was one of the nicer wines they had on-hand. She realized, as she turned toward him, that she didn't know if he liked wine. He’d always been a beer drinker before.
 

“You weren’t.” He set the pan on a cool burner and turned to her as she pulled the corkscrew from the drawer by the fridge.
That
, she knew the location without question.

“Would you like some wine?”

Without a word, he took the bottle from her and opened it with some finesse, then handed it back to her.
 

“Do I make you nervous?” he asked, without answering her question.

She got down two glasses anyway, and poured. “Why do you ask?”

“You just seem a little flustered, is all.”

“I thought I had a better handle on dinner. I thought it was simple enough. I think my mistake was the pan.” And not taking the rolls out to thaw. And not giving herself enough time. But she’d wanted everything warm and on the table when he arrived.

“Okay,” he said, taking the glass of wine she offered and watching as she took a gulp of hers. “Would it help to know I was nervous coming over?”

She widened her eyes. “Why? You’re seriously the least nervous person I’ve ever met.”

He lifted a shoulder. “Yeah, but we have a history, and I feel like there are expectations when two people try to get back together after so many years. I don't want to let you down.”

She opened her mouth to counter his words, but he stepped forward, curved his hand under her hair and kissed her. Breathless, she rose into his kiss, fumbling to set her wine glass on the counter behind her so she could wrap her arms around him and hold him to her, something she hadn't dared to do in his office. The moment her arms locked around his neck, he closed his hands around her waist and lifted her onto the counter. She gasped against his mouth as he wedged her legs apart to lean between them, and she had a moment of gratitude for the sturdiness of the cabinets as they deepened the kiss, moving into each other. She resisted the urge to tighten her legs around his hips, to bring him closer. She let him drag her hips to the edge of the counter. He held her a moment, snug between her thighs, then he lifted her, holding her against him. This time she did tighten her legs around his hips and—God, was he carrying her toward the stairs?