Page 80 of Just Like Home

What a ridiculous thought. Cole Turner was about as romantic as a lint roller. She had nothing in common with this man. And there was nothing appealing about him, aside from the way he looked. And the way he smelled. And, okay, the way he’d played football with those kids at Haven House. And the way he’d agreed to help Steve fix the fence. And his obvious concern for Asher and his nieces and nephew.

Darn it. There were a lot of appealing things about him.

But—she was quick to remind herself—he was not kind or polite. She’d be smart to remember all the ways he’d made her feel stupid or small.

A broad chest and piercing eyes didn’t change that.

“Thanks,” she said. He picked up the plates and walked toward the table.

Charlotte grabbed silverware and napkins and took them to the table, where he was now sitting in a chair across from the one she was supposed to sit in.

Charlotte had never been on a proper date. Or any kind of date, come to think of it. She was the epitome of inexperienced.

But she did watch a lot of movies, and this whole setup felt a lot like a date. The very thought of it unnerved her.

“You okay?” he asked.

She sat. “Confused, I think.”

“Why?”

She unfolded the napkin and laid it on her lap.

“I can’t figure you out,” she said. “To be honest, I thought I annoyed you.”

He picked up the salt and generously shook it onto his food before even tasting it. “You don’t.”

She watched as he cut into his chicken and took a bite, finally meeting her eyes. When she realized he wasn’t going to elaborate, she turned her attention to the plate he’d created for her. It not only smelled good, it looked beautiful. Maybe Cole had missed his calling as a chef.

“It almost looks too good to eat,” she said.

He brought his eyes to hers.

“Thanks, but it’s made to be eaten.” He took another bite.

“Did you see the newspaper?” she asked.

He nodded. A man of very few words. Charlotte wasn’t sure she could hold up both ends of this conversation, but Cole seemed to be the king of one-word (or no word) answers.

“The first rehearsal is tomorrow,” she said, working overtime to try and fill the gaps of silence left by her dinner companion. “For the tribute dances I’m choreographing, I mean. The students have been learning their recital pieces for a while now.”

He nodded as he chewed.

“I didn’t ask your team to be there because that’s a big group, and I’ve already met with them once. You’ll be shocked—some of them are actually decent dancers.”

“Did you have any trouble with them?” he asked, his gaze fixed on her.

She shook her head. “No, they were very well behaved.”

He nodded. “Good.”

She glanced down at her plate.

“Is it okay?”

She’d hardly eaten for all the talking she’d been doing. His plate, on the other hand, was almost clean.

“It’s really good.” She took a bite, still surprised by how good it was. She’d been making chicken for years and it had never tasted like this. “Where’d you learn to cook like this?”

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