Page 31 of The Reborn

I sat where she indicated. “Water’s fine, thanks.”

Her gaze tracked over my face for a brief moment. “Not a beer guy, huh?”

“I didn’t say that. I just don’t drink while I’m working.”

“Working. Right.” She spun and got me ice water and some iced tea for herself before sitting next to Elizabeth. “Do you need anything else?”

Between us, there was every condiment a taco could need plus chips and salsa. “No, thank you. This is more than enough.” I waited until she met my gaze. “As I said before, I don’t expect you to cook for me. I’m your employee here, Olivia.”

Something in her face softened and she shrugged as she picked up a tortilla. “I don’t mind. I don’t get the chance to cook for someone other than Lizzy that often, so it’s nice.”

I picked up my own tortilla and started loading it up. “You like to cook?”

“I’m no chef, but yeah. I do. It’s relaxing.”

I took a bite at the same time she did, our eyes locking. I couldn’t help the groan that escaped me, which made her face light in a smile.

“Good?” she asked.

I swallowed and wiped my lips. “I thought you said you’re not a chef.”

This made her laugh. “Shut up.”

“I’m serious. This is delicious.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

In that moment, something thawed between us. We both felt it. We ate without the tension that had been a boulder in our way since the moment we met. Just two people sharing a meal with a little girl giggling as she stuffed bits of tortilla and cheese in her mouth.

“So, what happened to your fancy car?” she asked after she’d demolished two tacos and was twirling a chip in salsa on her plate.

“Nothing. It’s at home in Houston.”

Her whiskey eyes glittered playfully. “Part of your collection, then?”

“Do I look like a collector to you?”

“Do collectors have a look?”

“Old and pudgy. Dress like pretentious rich assholes in golf shorts and baseball caps.”

This made her choke on her sip of tea with a laugh. “Seriously? Golf shorts and baseball caps?”

I shrugged, taking another bite. “Just what comes to mind.”

“That could be a million old men on any golf course in America right now.”

I studied her face as she smiled at me. She had a point. “Still. Not me.”

“Ooookay,” she said, elongating the word. “You’re an enigma. You own a fancy... what is it anyway?”

“Porsche nine-eleven turbo.”

“Right. That.” She reached over and wiped her daughter’s mouth with a napkin. “And an old Chevy truck. They don’t exactly seem to go together. What gives, if you don’t mind me asking?”

I caught the sippy cup before it toppled off the high chair and offered it to Elizabeth.

Big hazel eyes studied me for several seconds before she took it and began to chug away.

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