Page 36 of Dining for Love

“Any brothers or sisters?”

“Only child. Parents divorced, but nothing traumatic, youknow? Mom cleaned hotels and eventually worked up to a manager role, and she still does that now. Dad owns a cell-phone repair shop. He remarried pretty quickly—I don’t think he was made to be single,” I laugh. “He’s fairly helpless.”

“I can’t imagine my dad being helpless. That’s so far outside the realm of possibility that I can’t fathom it.”

“Your parents are good people.”

She nods and smiles softly. “Yeah. They are. So, you want lunch?”

I hesitate.

“I mean, I’ll make you something,” she clarifies. Then she grins. “Only, you can’t be a pain in the butt about it and try to piss me off.”

I chuckle. “Willa, you know I only do it to get a rise out of you.”

She blushes. “No, you don’t.”

“I absolutely do.”

She blinks rapidly, then clears her throat and opens the fridge, breaking eye contact. Behind the door, she says, “So. Lunch?”

“Definitely.”

She rustles in the refrigerator, then straightens. “You allergic to anything?”

“What if I say sesame seeds?”

She glares. “Reid.”

I laugh and hold up my hands. “I’m joking. No allergies. Can I help?”

“No, just stand there and look pretty.” She shoots the words out, then her cheeks blaze again as I guffaw.

“Did you just call me pretty?” I tease.

“Forget I said that and I’ll let you stay in here.”

“Already forgotten.” The way she’s wearing no bra, and how her shorts ride up every time she bends into the fridge, however? Definitely not forgetting that. Ever. The image of her, pure andsweet and making me lunch, will be burned into my memory forever.

I am the Big Bad Wolf, and she’s Red Riding Hood, all innocent and ready to ply me with food. Asshole that I am, I’m perfectly happy to be the wolf. Maybe she’ll even let me eat her later.

She moves with efficiency around the tiny kitchen, her movements sharp and practiced. In no time, she’s prepared us grilled cheese and tomato chutney sandwiches alongside an arugula salad with cranberries and sliced parmesan. It’s deceptively simple, and easily the best meal I’ve ever had. I groan as I try, and fail, not to shovel the sandwich in my mouth like a…well, wolf. “Willa. Seriously?”

She stops, her fork halfway to her mouth. “What? Is the arugula bad?”

“This is unreal. It’s delicious.”

She relaxes, her eyes shining and a shyly confident smile playing around her mouth. “I know. You’re welcome.”

I smirk. “Sothisis where you flex, huh?”

“What do you mean?” she asks, picking up her sandwich.

I remind myself to swallow before talking. I really was raised with manners, despite how I’m inhaling this food. “I mean, you act all sweet and nice, but then you get in the kitchen and watch out. You’re a beast. No wonder everyone wants you out of Lucky.” When she startles and looks away, her shoulders rising, I realize what a sore spot I’ve poked. “Shit. I’m sorry. I get it, Willa, you’re not going anywhere.”

“I know I’m sheltered?—”

“I didn’t say that.”

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