Page 23 of The Birthday List (Maysen Jar 1)

I groaned. “Stop that. Now you sound like Kali.”

“Where do you think I learned it? She says ‘please’ so long and loud I always give in. Do you want me to do it again? I’ll do it again. Pleeeee—”

“Okay! Since I’m already making myself a sandwich, I’ll make him o

ne too.”

“Yes!” she cheered before pulling me into her arms. “Love you, Poppy-bear.”

I smiled at the nickname she’d given me my freshman year in college. “Love you too, Molly-moo.”

“How about I finish up out there and close up? Then you guys can eat back here.”

I let her go. “All right. Will you give me a minute before you send him back?”

“I’ll give you two.”

As she disappeared from the kitchen, my hands came to my cheeks and I took a few long breaths.

Dinner. This was just dinner.

Dinner with an acquaintance at my new restaurant. Cole and I could chat and make small talk while we ate. Then he’d leave and I could get back to work. Dinner didn’t mean anything. I was still Jamie’s wife. I’d always be Jamie’s wife, and there was nothing wrong with me cooking a meal for Cole.

This is just dinner.

My affirmations helped ease my anxiety but didn’t erase it entirely. So I did the next best thing to settle my racing heart—I started cooking.

I dropped my hands and went to the large, stainless-steel refrigerator. Then I pulled out the ingredients for grilled cheese sandwiches, piling food on the prep table. I’d gathered all of my supplies when the door swung open and Cole stepped into the kitchen.

“I was told to get out of her dining room if I wanted food.”

I giggled. “She has a way with customers, that one.”

He smiled and stepped up to the prep table. “I can go if this is a pain in the ass. I really did just want to say hi and check out your place.”

“You’re hungry. I’m hungry. Making you dinner is not a pain in the ass. How about a grilled cheese? They aren’t on the menu, but I’ve been told they don’t suck.”

“Considering I haven’t eaten since ten this morning, I’d eat just about anything.”

“Busy day?”

He sighed. “Busy year. Bozeman’s growing so fast that we’re a little understaffed with senior officers. I made detective last summer and it’s been hectic ever since.”

“Is that why you don’t have to wear a uniform anymore?” I waved at his casual clothes. When I’d seen him five years ago, he’d been in uniform.

“Yeah.”

I nodded and started slicing a tomato.

“Can I help?”

“I’ve got this. You can just relax.” I pointed to the stools next to the table.

Cole took his seat and rested his elbows on the table. As I cut slices off a block of cheese, his tan, sinewy forearms were right in my line of sight. On one wrist sat a watch with a huge silver face. I bet my fingers wouldn’t touch if they took the place of his watch.

My eyes wandered up from his wrists and forearms to his biceps. Cole’s arms were big but not bulky. The muscles were just perfectly defined, even underneath the cotton of his shirt. My hand would look tiny resting on his arm. My cheeks flushed when I realized I’d been staring for a moment too long.

I blinked and looked down at the table, then up at Cole’s face.