Page 45 of The Clover Chapel (Jamison Valley 2)
Raising my fist, I pounded on her front door.
I watched her march my way through one of the five rectangular windows that filled the front door, rolling her eyes when she realized I was at her house.
Christ, I loved that eye roll.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
I didn’t answer. I just bent down to pick up the bags resting at my feet and pushed past her into the house, walking straight to the kitchen.
“Nick!” she called but I ignored her again. I deposited the groceries on the island while she scowled at me from the kitchen doorway. My teeth clenched together and I fought back a curse. She’d lost weight and there were dark purple rings under her eyes.
“Come on, Emmy. We’re making dinner. From the looks of it, you could use a decent meal.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It means you look like shit. When’s the last time you ate? Those clothes are hanging off of you.” The black dress she wore looked more like a rectangular bag than a fitted dress. Though, her legs still looked smoking hot in those tall-ass shoes.
Her eyes got wide and her mouth fell open an inch. “Excuse me? Insulting me is not doing you any favors.”
“Emmy, even exhausted and miserable, you’re the most beautiful woman in the world so don’t get too bent out of shape. Now get in here so we can start cooking.”
Her face flushed and I turned away to start un-bagging groceries, smiling to myself.
I gave her a few moments and then ordered, “Emmy. Get in here. Find a cutting board and a knife.”
“You’re not going to leave me alone, are you?”
I spun around to look her directly in the eyes. “Abso-fucking-lutely not.”
“Oh for the love . . .” she muttered and stomped into the kitchen.
“Get out a frying pan too. And a big wooden spoon.”
She opened cupboard after cupboard to get my tools. Coffee mugs were in every one. She must have a hundred of them tucked away.
“What are you making?” she asked.
“Fajitas,” I said. “And you’re making them.”
“I assume you’ll be helping me?”
I smiled.
Her eyes moved to my mouth and her breath hitched. She was just as affected by me as I was by her. I just needed to get her to admit it so we could move forward.
Five minutes later, she was at the island attempting to chop a green bell pepper.
Holy fuck, she was bad at this. “You’re doing great.”
Her slices were six times too wide, nothing like the example I’d shown her. Not only were her cuts uneven, making them took forever. If I didn’t step in to help, we wouldn’t eat until midnight.
“I’ll just do a few of these too,” I said, reaching for an onion. I wanted to tease her but decided to save it for a different day when we were on better terms.
When she’d finally finished with one pepper, I’d sliced the other three, the onion and the chicken.
“Spices next. Sprinkle a teaspoon of all three over the meat and vegetables,” I said, handing her three small jars.
After finishing her task, she hopped up on the counter to drink the glass of wine I had handed her.
