“You okay?”
“Yeah,” she says, pressing her hand to her chest.
“You forgot I was here, didn’t you?” I smile.
“Maybe,” she says, looking sheepish. She walks over to the stove and checks the water in the big stainless-steel pot.
“Not used to having people in your house?” I question, taking another sip of beer.
“I don’t really know too many people around here.”
I watch as she measures out some pasta before dropping it into the boiling water. “How long have you been in Nashville?”
“Six months. I wanted to buy a house, and I couldn’t do that in Seattle, so I decided to move down here.” She pulls the lid off another pot, grabbing the long-handled wooden spoon from the spoon rest sitting between the burners and starts stirring whatever it is inside.
“You moved by yourself?”
“Yeah.” She shrugs her shoulders and lets out a long breath.
“It must have been hard to leave your friends and family behind to move to another state where you didn’t know anyone,” I say gently, not knowing if this topic of conversation will send her shutting down.
“Not really. I have always kinda been a loner.”
“What about your family?” Even though I already know some about her past, I want her to open up to me.
“My mom died when I was fifteen,” she whispers, “and my dad isn’t in my life. My mom and dad were only children, my grandparents are all dead, and I don’t have any siblings.” She bites her lip and continues to stir the pasta sauce.
“I’m sorry.” I take a step towards her, running my hand down her back trying to comfort her. Her body stiffens under my touch, and I watch as she forces herself to relax. “Are you okay?” I ask softly, feeling like I need to treat her like a skittish cat I really want to pet.
“Yeah, I just… I’m not used to people touching me,” she says, making my heart squeeze. I don’t move away from her. She never said she didn’t like or want people to touch her, just that she’s not used to it. I want her to get used to me touching her.
“So what are you making?” I change the subject, using the excuse of seeing what she’s stirring in the pot to move closer to her.
“Spaghetti with meat sauce,” she replies with a small laugh.
“What’s funny?” I smile automatically.
“Nothing.” She looks at me over her shoulder, her eyes widening when she sees how close I am to her. “Wh—”She clears her throat. “What about you? Does your family live around here?”
“They live about forty-five minutes away. I drive to see them every few days.” I lean back against the counter so I can see her face.
“Are you close to them?”
“I am. My mom and dad are still married and still very much in love. I have three brothers—Asher, Trevor, and Cash. Asher is married and has four girls, Trevor is married and has both a daughter and a son on the way, and Cash has one of each too.”
“Cash isn’t married?”
“He was, and I’m sure he’ll be getting married again soon. His story is long and contains a lot of drama. His ex-wife is certifiably insane. Now he’s back with his first love, and they have their daughter and my nephew.”
“And you? You’ve never been married?”
“No. Have you?”
“No.” She looks at me, and I can see that she wants to say more. “I’ve never been married.”
All I can think is, Thank f**k. Her eyes get big, like she’s read my mind, and I smile as I watch her cheeks turn pink.
“Do you want me to help you with anything?”
“If you can strain the pasta, that would help.”
She walks to the sink and puts the colander down inside it before going to the fridge, where she pulls out a salad. Then she walks over to put it on the table. She makes her way back to the stove to turn off all the burners, and as I finish straining all the water from the noodles, I watch her, mesmerized, as she leans close to the sauce, inhales deeply, and lets out a soft moan. Again, she’s completely unaware of how f**king sexy she is.
I have to force myself to unlock the death grip I’ve unintentionally clamped onto her plastic colander. Luckily, I haven’t snapped it yet. When we have everything ready, we both sit at the table, where she starts putting the pasta on each of our plates.
“This is awkward,” she says, catching me off guard.
“Really? You think so?” I ask, not feeling the least bit out of place.
“You don’t?” she asks in response, her eyes meeting mine.
“No. Do you feel uncomfortable around me?”
“No, I guess not,” she says, taking a deep breath.
“As long as you don’t feel uncomfortable, awkward is okay.” I run my fingers over the top of her hand.
“I guess you’re right,” she concedes with a little shiver.
I unwillingly force my hand away from hers to pick up my fork, and while we eat, the conversation is light and easy. After we finish the simple but delicious dinner she cooked, we both stand in the kitchen, me with my hip to the counter, and her sitting across from me next to the sink after we finished washing the dishes.
“So, your dog is named Daisy?” She laughs as I pull out my phone to scroll through my pictures so I can show her some of Daisy.
“Here she is.” I hold my cell out to her.