Page 9 of The Kitchen Contract

“Not really. Although now that I think about it, I do usually eat pasta on Monday nights and Chinese food on Fridays.” And barbecue on Wednesdays, salad on Thursdays, and snacks on Sundays. Seems I’m more of a creature of habit than I might have realized, but she doesn’t need to know all that.

“Alright, we’ll start with tacos and go from there. I’ll order the tripods this week. When do you want to start?”

As soon as possible. “How long do you think it will take them to get here?”

“Maybe four or five days?”

“Then how about next Saturday? I’m free all day, so maybe we could batch it and shoot several episodes at one time for you to edit during the week.”

She smiles, her blue eyes crinkling delicately at the corners. “That’s what I wanted to do, but I wasn’t sure what you’d think about making it an all-day thing.”

All day, all night, all week. I’d be happy to have her here as long and as often as she wants to be. I’m glad she can’t hear my thoughts. She probably has at least an idea of what a zero to sixty kind of guy I am from how little persuasion it took for me to offer her my kitchen, but I’m doing my best not to scare her away with my personality and enthusiasm. I know I can be a bit much, so I’ve learned to tone it down some. “That’s fine with me. We’ll plan on Saturday, then. Anything I need to do to be ready?”

“Just have the kitchen counters clean and empty.” She looks around, probably realizing that she just described the current state of affairs. I don’t think she fully grasps just how infrequently this room gets used. “And maybe I could peek in your cabinets and see what kind of supplies you have so I know what I need to bring and what’s already here?”

“Sure thing.” I hop off my stool and offer her a hand to climb down from hers, even though she’s almost as tall as I am. She places her hand in mine, and it’s all I can do to stop myself from brushing my thumb over the soft skin of her knuckles. I release her hand as soon as she stands and put a few feet of distance between us, though not enough distance to avoid the sweet scent emanating from her. It smells fruity like maybe strawberry shampoo or body wash?

“My kitchen is your kitchen,” I tell her, gesturing around in a circle. “Feel free to make yourself at home and look at anything you want. I’ll get out the ice cream while you’re looking.”

I try to watch her as much as I can without being creepy while I’m dipping the mint chocolate chip. She opens the first cabinet, peering in at my plates and bowls, then makes her way methodically across the room, opening each door and drawer, her intelligent gaze taking everything in. Occasionally she makes a humming sound and takes a note on her phone.

“Well? Do I get a passing grade?” I ask when she turns to face me again, hands on her hips.

“I have to admit, your kitchen is better stocked than I expected.” She accepts the bowl of ice cream I offer her with a smile. “I’ll only have to bring a few things with me —plus the ingredients of course.”

“You have Maddy to thank for the well-equipped kitchen. When I moved in, she made sure I had everything she could think of that I might possibly need and more.”

She did the same for much of the rest of the house as well, though she took care to make sure the décor reflected my style. The result was a home that feels like me but looks much nicer than your average bachelor pad. Having an interior designer for a sister definitely has its perks.

“Well, she did a good job.” She smiles widely, enthusiasm sparkling in her eyes. “I can barely believe it. With the lighting and the layout—it’s like this kitchen was built for this. It’s almost too good to be true.”

“Sounds like this partnership was meant to be.”

She nods slowly, her gaze holding mine, until she clears her throat and looks away. The sound of spoons scraping bowls fills the kitchen as we finish our ice cream.

Nora sets her bowl in the sink. “Well, I guess I’d better get going. There’s lots to do if we’re going to be ready for Saturday.”

I straighten as she reaches for the bag she left on the end of the counter, draping it over her shoulder and withdrawing her keys. “Let me know if you think of any way I can help between now and Saturday.”

I’d love an excuse to talk to her again before then.

“Will do. Thanks for dinner.” She walks into the hallway, making her way to the front door. She grasps the knob and pauses, turning back to look at me.

“Olives.”

“I’m sorry?”

She gives me a small smile. “That’s my favorite pizza topping, for future reference.”

I grin back, committing this fact to memory. “Duly noted.”

“Okay, well, I’ll see you Saturday, then?”

“See you Saturday.”

8

NORA

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