Page 51 of The Offer

“Want me to bring it out?”

“Nope, I got it,” Kevin said. He snatched the bag and the coffee and darted for the door.

“Is it just me or was that weird?” Zach asked.

Jess huffed and reached for Honey again. “Zach, you should know by now that Kevin is always weird.”

Zach chuckled. “Jess, I think you should know by now that Kevin brings out a special kind of weirdness when he’s around you.”

She ignored him and the tiny skip of her heart at Zach’s words. She took note of what she needed to order for her next inventory fulfillment, not daring to look in Kevin’s direction when he came back in.

Jess slipped a tray of lemon poppy seed muffins into the display case the following morning as Kevin dropped a six-pack of energy drinks on the counter with a dramatic thunk.

“Pop these in the fridge?”

She slid the glass door shut. “Care to explain why I’m storing your groceries?”

“Our groceries. Tonight is the night we travel to Mordor with Frodo and Samwise and watch Aragorn come in all sexy through the doors of Helm’s Deep. We’ll need our energy.”

“But it’s Sunday, I get the night to myself.” She frowned. “We’re supposed to do this stuff on Mondays.”

“Think about it, Jessica. Do you want to do a movie marathon on Monday and then come in bleary-eyed on Tuesday just to botch the baked goods? You know the kanelbullar deserves better than that.”

She groaned. “Fine. That’s fair.”

He lifted the six-pack. “Fridge. And make a list of the snacks I need to get.”

“Popcorn. M&M’s. Pretzels and Nutella.” She tapped her cheek. “We should probably eat real food, too. I’ll make something.”

His face brightened. “You’re going to cook for me? What did I do to deserve such an honor?”

Everything, she thought to herself. But she knew she would never live it down if she admitted it. “If you’re going to let me drool over Viggo Mortensen for twelve hours straight, you deserve a meal that’s a little more substantial. Maybe even a bottle of wine.”

“Oh, we’re getting crazy,” he teased. “Jessica, as long as you wear that cute little denim apron while you cook, I’m in.”

She slit her eyes. “Why do you always make things so weird?”

Kevin reached over and booped her nose, the same motion she’d seen him do to Honey countless times in the past week since bringing her home. “For this exact reason. You get so ruffled. It’s adorable.”

He winked, then walked away, whistling. Whistling. She really was going to throttle him some day. Honey jumped up and down as Kevin approached, her long leash tied to his desk. Kevin flipped a bike upside down and clipped it onto the stand across from him, then sat on his tiny bench and tinkered away. Still whistling some tune she couldn’t quite place.

The golden afternoon sun pierced through the back kitchen window as Jess drizzled sliced cherry tomatoes, minced garlic, and chopped basil in a bowl with olive oil, then added a couple cracks of fresh sea salt and black pepper. Tossing the bowl with one hand, she removed the plastic wrap from the sheet pan in front of her with the other.

“This is probably the hottest thing I’ve ever watched,” Kevin drawled from the door.

She jumped, a few cherry tomatoes falling to the floor. “Dammit, Kevin. You can’t do that when food is on the line.”

He chuckled and bent down to pick up the rogue tomatoes, tossing them into the trash. “What are you making me over there?”

“You’ll see.”

She lightly drizzled more olive oil on her hands, then pressed dimples into the risen dough in the pan, gas bubbles popping up with each press. She dumped the cherry tomatoes on top and spread them out, then stuffed tiny mozzarella pearls in the empty holes.

A warm body pressed up beside her. She could feel his breath on her ear. “Step back, you’re going to drool all over the focaccia.”

He moaned. “Focaccia. My god. I do not deserve you.”

“I know,” she quipped. She washed her hands in the tiny sink by the door, then slid the focaccia in the oven.