Page 9 of Dangerous Mountain Man

“Love them,” I said. “I’ll see you at seven.”

And then I got out of the car, walking toward the guys. They were staring at its driver with knowing expressions.

I was going to get the ribbing of a lifetime for this, and I didn’t even care. I’d take it if it meant spending time around Mallorie.

5

MALLORIE

Iwas in the weeds. In college, while working as a server in a restaurant near campus, I’d heard the kitchen crew use that term when they were overwhelmed with orders.

But this wasn’t a restaurant. It was the kitchen in a cabin that wasn’t even mine. I didn’t have some boss breathing down my neck. So why was I so stressed?

A knock on the door answered that question. Crap buckets. It was already seven? I pulled open the oven and checked on the garlic bread. Not quite ready yet.

Sighing, I tossed the oven mitt onto the counter and rushed to the door, jerking it open. Only when I was face-to-face with my dinner guest did I remember I was supposed to take the time to straighten up and look calm before opening the door. His wide-eyed, alarmed expression quickly reminded me, though.

I took a deep breath and summoned a smile. “Come on in.”

Gosh darn, he was handsome.Sohandsome. And somehow, just looking at him had calmed me a little, and I couldn’t figure out why. Maybe it was his bulky build and bulging muscles. He could take care of anyone who tried to mess with me.

But I had a feeling it was more in the neutral expression on his face. Nothing seemed to rattle him—not even the smoke pouring from his car last night.

Speaking of which. “Did you get your truck back?”

Memphis shook his head. “Brock couldn’t get to it today.”

I shut the door behind him and smiled to myself as I headed back to the kitchen. That meant he’d need a ride tomorrow morning. I’d have another reason to see him after tonight. I was surprised by how much I liked knowing that.

“It smells amazing,” he said.

That was the garlic bread. “Oh crap,” I said, rushing back to the stove.

I grabbed the potholder and pulled open the oven door. Sure enough, the garlic bread had gone from underdone to overdone in a matter of seconds. That was the way it always seemed to go.

“The bread got a little crispy on the edges,” I said, pulling it out and setting it on the stove.

I’d expected Memphis to head over to the table and stand awkwardly, but instead, he came directly into the kitchen. As always, his presence seemed to fill the area. There was just a tension in the air when we were near each other.

“Looks great to me,” he said. “I like my bread with a little char on it.”

I looked over at him. He was humoring me, I was sure. But he was looking around.

“Let’s grab a plate and dig in,” he said.

“I can plate it up and bring it to the table.”

He shook his head. “You’ve done all this. I may as well help out.”

I looked at the prepared food on the stove, ready to be served. Normally, plating would be part of the process, but it was spaghetti and meatballs. It wasn’t like I could make it look all that fancy.

“Thank you.” I pointed to the cabinet directly in front of him. “That’s where I keep the bowls.”

I would have reached over and grabbed them myself, but he was kind of in the way, and I wasn’t sure if he’d think I was invading his space if I stepped closer. He reached up, opened the cabinet, and withdrew two wide-lipped, rimmed bowls that I pointed out.

He handed me one. “Ladies first.”

I scooped a generous pile of noodles onto my plate, followed by sauce. I thought about what he’d said that morning—something about not being used to being driven. He’d gone quiet after that, so I didn’t mention it, but it wasn’t like he was specifically uncomfortable about a woman doing the driving. I had a feeling it had a little more to do with not being in control.

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