Page 75 of Resisting the Grump

“Good point,” she said, her eyes drifting from the cat tree to my wraparound couch to the corner where I kept my drum set. “What are you making?”

“Lobster.”

Her brows jumped. “Wow.”

“It’s a special occasion.” I headed towards the kitchen.

“And what occasion might that be?” she asked.

I plucked the decanter off the counter and carefully poured two glasses of red wine. “The first time I had my hot neighbor over for dinner.”

“I never said I’d stay,” she said, her heels clacking across the wood floor as she came closer.

“Here’s hoping,” I said, bringing her a glass of wine.

She took it gratefully before looking around. “Your place is a lot nicer than mine.”

“Not nicer,” I said. “Just bigger.”

“That’s being kind.”

“I have my moments.” I gestured towards the couch.

She wandered over and sat down.

“Apparently it used to be two units, but the neighbors fell in love and combined them.”

“Really?”

I shook my head and sat down beside her. “No, not really. Would be ironic, though.”

“A little too ironic,” she said, no doubt fighting the urge to keep singing the catchy pop tune.

My eyes found hers and she sprang back up, unable to settle.

I watched her walk over to the kitchen, wishing I didn’t get the sense that she was trying to keep her distance. I hated how devilishly idle my hands felt went she wasn’t within reach, and I could tell by the sharp ache in my chest that I’d been missing her even more than I realized.

She scrutinized the ingredients I’d prepped, her expression giving nothing away as her gaze drifted from the parsley to the potato peeler. It occurred to me I probably looked similarly stoic when she first spotted me doing the rounds at the baking festival.

I’d done as much prep beforehand as I could. Some fathers taught their sons self-defense. Mine taught me there was nothing worse than having someone over for dinner and spending the whole time bent over the stove.

“Smells good,” she said finally.

“As good as forgiveness?” I asked.

She scoffed and looked towards the kitchen table. I’d set it for two, but I hadn’t lit the candles yet. Her gaze softened as she stared at the spread. “You went to a lot of trouble here.”

“You’re worth it.”

She picked up the plate with the rest of the goat cheese crackers and strolled back over to the couch, swinging her hips and sitting a little more assuredly this time.

Where was that lazy cat? He was so unwelcoming. I’d made it perfectly clear he was supposed to win her over.

She set the plate on the coffee table. “Sucks that we could’ve been hanging out this whole time.”

“You were always welcome here.”

There was a sadness in her voice when she spoke again. “Why didn’t you just tell me right away?”

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