Page 20 of The Only Time

I walk into the kitchen, my eyes immediately drawn to the sight before me. Mia is rummaging through a lower cabinet, herback to me as she is bent over, her curves accentuated by her fitted denim shorts. Her legs stretch gracefully, the smooth lines and tanned skin drawing my gaze, making it hard to look away. She hasn’t noticed me yet, and I find myself holding my breath, caught with desire.

“Can I help you find anything?” I ask and she lets out a shriek.

She stands up and the first thing I notice is her hair up in a loose bun, messy and wild on her head, but effortlessly beautiful. Her cheeks are stained a pink hue.

“Oh my god. You scared me,” she says with a hand over her heart.

I walk into the kitchen, slightly amused. “I can see that. Just trying to offer help where I can.”

She smiles shyly. “I was just looking for a strainer.”

“Ah. I can’t say I’ve used it, but it’s in that cabinet up there. I think.”

I try to walk over to retrieve it for her, but she beats me to it. “No need to reach for it. You need to rest.”

That’s what I’ve been trying to do all day, but it’s been driving me mad. I’m used to being busy with work. I don’t like having down time. It allows me to think, and that hasn’t been something I’ve liked to do in the last couple of years.

“Are you hungry? I’m making dinner.”

Do I want to sit around and have forced conversation with a woman I find far too attractive? Absolutely not. “I could eat,” my mouth replies despite my brain telling me no.

“Good. I’m making plenty.”

I take a seat at the island and watch her work effortlessly in my kitchen like she’s lived here longer than I have. Everything is already smelling amazing.

“What are you making?” I ask with genuine curiosity.

She doesn’t turn around, just continues to dice an onion on the island right in front of me. “A chicken pot pie with an arugula and peach salad—cobbler for dessert.”

My entire mouth fills with saliva. “Is it all homemade?”

She chuckles as she throws the onions into the skillet with peas and carrots. “Where I come from, you don’t eat anything unless it’s homemade.”

“Interesting choices. A bit different from your Italian meal the other night.”

“Layla made this amazing peach cocktail the night I got here with peaches from Georgia. I was inspired to learn some southern cooking and take advantage of the peaches while I’m down here.”

A thought occurs to me. “I didn’t see you leave at all today. When did you get groceries?”

A strange look appears on her face. “I didn’t leave the house. I had the groceries delivered.”

Interesting. I wonder why she hasn’t wanted to go anywhere. Maybe she’s a homebody. I remember I still don’t know why she is staying with me and it’s odd it hasn’t come up yet.

Once everything is thrown into the oven, she turns to me. “That needs to bake for an hour. I already have the salad in the fridge and the cobbler ready to bake later. I was going to go read in my room for a bit. Can I help you with anything first?”

“Um, now that you mention it, I haven’t been able to change all day.”

“Oh, is that why you haven’t been wearing a shirt all day?”

How? I don’t remember seeing her at all today. Has she been hiding?

“Yeah, I mean, it’s just hard to move my arm right now. And…you’ve noticed me not wearing a shirt?”

I don’t know why I said that. I want to take it back until I notice that damn blush of hers spreading down her chest. Fuckme, why do I find that so sexy? I want to explore how far down it goes. Does it reach her nipples? I’ve pictured taking those into my mouth ever since I saw them the other night.

“I mean, sorry. Yes, that’s why I haven’t put a shirt on. Any chance you could help me?” I change course, and wonder why I just asked her if she’s been checking me out. I don’t want her to check me out.

We walk into my bedroom to grab a clean shirt and I hand it to her. She throws it on the bed.

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