Page 106 of First Bride to Fall
He spotted the unfolded instructions on the kitchen table.
Especially without the instructions.
He shook his head, wondering if he should take them to her, then decided no. This venture was all on her. She’d been so sure she could do this, but he was pretty sure she couldn’t. Jordan had assured him this was the most wicked-difficult tent they had. It would probably be a challenge even for Grant to put it up, especially single-handed.
He picked up his cooler, but then his gaze snagged on that pesky frying pan in the sink. Maybe it hadn’t been exactly fair of him to leave herallthe dishes, even if he had cooked. That stainless steel frying pan took extra care anyway. For having such a basic kitchen, he’d made a big splurge on fancy cookware. You needed a special cleaning powder to get off any sediment caused by cooking.
He set down his cooler, unable to resist the urge to peek at the pot that Nell had washed and dried and left on the counter. It wasn’t dirty, but it didn’t gleam like it could. Not Nell’s fault by any means. He hadn’t told her about his high-end pots and pans. He hadn’t wanted to, either, lest she judge him for being precious about his cookware. He sighed and walked to the kitchen sink, staring down at that frying pan.
It would only take him a couple of minutes to clean it. He’d give the pot a quick scouring, too. Then he’d leave everything where it was, and Nell would believe that messy old frying pan had soaked itself into pristine condition. He’d save his cookware and help Nell out without her knowing it.
The back door popped open, and Grant froze where he was at the sink. The water was running, and his hands halted in the frying pan mid-scrub.
She called out in surprise. “You’re back!”
“Yeah, I…” He shrugged. “Forgot my cooler.”
“What are you doing?”
“I was just, um—” He shut off the tap.
She walked over to where he stood. “Washing the frying pan?”
“No.”
“Grant.” She gawked at him. “You’re up to your wrists in soap suds—holding a sponge.”
He cast a look at the frying pan and dropped the sponge. “Oh yeah.” He winced because she’d caught him red-handed—again.
“So you, what?” She cocked her head. “Came back to do the dishes? I thought you felt that wasmyjob.”
His shoulders sank. “Maybe that wasn’t fair.”
“Ooh. Having an attack of conscience?”
“No.” He fiercely met her gaze. “Are you?”
She set a hand on her hip. “Not in the least.”
Lovely. Just like her. He groused and turned the water back on, rinsing the frying pan thoroughly—inside and out. “I didn’t come back to do the dishes, if you must know,” he said without looking at her. “I came back for my cooler, like I told you.”
She stared at it where it sat on the floor beside the table. “It’s over there.”
“Right. Yes, it is.” He licked his lips. “The only thing is, I saw this frying pan, and then I remembered I forgot to tell you it’s an All-Clad.”
Her eyebrows arched. “What’s an All-Clad?”
His face burned hot. “A type of cookware that requires special care.”
“Really? I never knew you were a foodie.”
“I’m not afoodie, Nell. I just know what I like.”
“And what do you like?”
“Things made to last.” He reached for a dish towel, but she grabbed it first.
“I’ll dry.”
