Page 43 of Coming Home

Had he done a wham-bam-let-me-go-down-on-you-and-run-thank-you-ma’am? Shaking her head, she knew thatcouldn’t be right. Noah was gone, but he wouldn’t do that. Even if this was just a one-time thing, he’d not do that to her. Just like the teeter-totter, he’d never let her hit the ground like that.

Pushing the blanket off, she jumped out of bed. After tossing her shirt and bra into the wicker hamper in the corner, she grabbed her blue fluffy cloud robe and wrapped it around her. Then, she padded to the stairs.

With each step, the pungent smell of garlic danced in her nostrils. The soft sound of a cabinet being eased shut drifted from the kitchen.

She bounded down the rest of the stairs, entering the large living room and kitchen area. Noah stood at the island, chopping a bell pepper on a pug-shaped cutting board.

“Are you cooking?” she gaped.

His smile quirked with mischief. “Well, if we counted on your cooking we’d starve or get food poisoning.”

“Weneververified that it wasn’t a stomach bug.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

There was no proof that the turkey chili she’d made five years ago for a Wilson/Owens Sunday dinner made everyone pray at the altar of the porcelain god. Despite the lack of proof, the two families agreed Nat was no longer allowed to cook.

“So…” She drew out the word as if it would somehow fill in what to say next.

A conversation was needed. What happens next? Was this a one-time thing? Was this more? What did he want? Goddess, what did she want?

“You’re spinning, Nat.” Noah’s warm gaze silenced the many questions wandering inside her.

“Just a bit.” She held up her thumb and pointer finger squeezed together. “We do need to talk, though.”

Noah tossed the sliced bell pepper into a large salad bowl.

I have a salad bowl?Her forehead puckered.

“What are you cooking?” she asked, leaning against the counter.

“I have a vegetarian lasagna in the oven. I’m making a salad andunburntgarlic bread.” A cheeky grin covered his face.

“Hardy-har-har,” she mocked. “You burn the garlic bread once and they don’t let you live it down.”

His right brow ticked up.

“Okay, twice.” She snagged a slice of bell pepper from the bowl and bit into it. “So, where’d you get the supplies? I survive on takeout, premade salads, and yogurt.”

“I noticed,” he chuckled. “While you were sleeping, I ran to the store to pick up a few things and grabbed some cooking utensils from my place. I left a note.” His head tipped to a piece of notebook paper held on the fridge door with a Sailor Moon magnet. His gaze locked on her. “I didn’t want you to think I bailed on you.”

“I know you wouldn’t.”

The intimacy of their gazes pinned both in place. The companionable silence cocooned them in mutual understanding. She saw him as much as he saw her. The idea of seeing and being seen caused happiness to bloom within her.

“Dinner will be ready in twenty-five minutes. It looks like you were about to shower. Why don’t you do that? Then we can eat and talk.”

“Sounds like a plan, Stan.” A goofy lilt coated her words.

Plan Stan? WTF Nat!She bit her lip and pushed off the counter.

“Nat, wait.”

“Yup?” She twirled to face him.

He leaned over the counter, capturing her lips in a slow, savoring kiss. Every nerve ending ignited. Her toes curled. All the romantic clichés hit her body with the heat of his kiss.

Pulling back, his dimples popped with a big grin. “I know we will talk over dinner, but I don’t want you to think this is just a one-time thing. At least not for me.”

Despite her quickened pulse, a strange easiness relaxed away any whispered rigidness of her body. “It’s not a one-time thing for me either.”

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