Page 48 of Conspiracies and Chemistry

His hand was dry and warm when I shook it. His long fingers brushed the inside of my wrist. A shiver traveled from my hand all the way to my blackened heart, which gave a throb.

Nope, that wasn’t a spark. That was me being touch-starved. When I got home, I’d ask Savannah to give me a hug. I’d snuggle with my cats. Then I’d be fortified for the next time he caressed my skin in a not-at-all sexual way.

“Deal,” I said.

23

Flow Cytometry

Flow cytometry:A technique in which lasers are used to analyze the physical and chemical properties of cells.

OLIVER

Acouple nights after we made our deal, I felt like crowing when I welcomed Tessa Wright into my kitchen. She was willing to give me a chance. She wouldn’t admit it, but our hookup in the supply closet had to mean something to her, or she’d never have come, not even to advance her project. After she told me the real story of Red Rover, I knew she had integrity.

Integrity was sexy.

“This is, um, nice,” she said. She nodded at the big windows that would have given us a view of the live oaks that surrounded the house if it weren’t dark outside. My house wasn’t the biggest or most luxurious in Los Altos Hills, but its wooded property reminded me of growing up in the Northeast. “You don’t have a gate. You never have trouble with trespassers?”

“Sometimes there’s a stray hiker or two who wander off the trail. More often, it’s foxes or bobcats. An occasional coyote.”

“Hm.” She tore her eyes away from the windows. “Smells good.”

“Thanks. Everything’s ready. You can wash up in the bathroom around the corner there while I plate it up. Is sauvignon blanc okay?”

“Sure. Only one glass, though, since I’m driving.”

“Of course.” No matter how much I wanted her to stay, I’d be telling her goodnight before midnight. I’d vowed to slow things down and build our relationship on a rock-solid foundation.

That didn’t mean I didn’t watch her glorious ass and her swaying red mane as she turned and walked down the hall. But when she closed the door, I took a deep breath to reset my brain and got back to work.

Between the two of us, Simon had always been the foodie. Still, I knew my way around a kitchen. When I asked her about food sensitivities, Tessa said she avoided dairy and red meat, so I roasted fingerling potatoes and broccoli and grilled some chicken breasts, which I topped with mango salsa.

She was back in a couple of minutes, and I set our plates on the granite island, figuring it would be more intimate than the dining room.

She stared at the plate. “You made this?”

I glanced at the dirty pans in the sink. “Yeah? Do you not like it?”

“No. It looks delicious. I’ve never met someone who enjoys cooking. Besides my friend Savannah, who’s…yeah.”

“Why don’t you like cooking?” I asked.

She picked up her fork and stabbed a potato. “I guess it reminds me of home. How things used to be before my mom died.”

I stilled, like if I didn’t move, she’d forget I was there and keep talking.

“When I’m in the kitchen, I think of her. How our lives could’ve been.” She wrinkled her nose. “Tell you what I’ll never do again: cook over a campfire. I did way too much of that as a teenager after she…after.” She bit into the potato and chewed, then she hummed. “Great potatoes.”

“I got them at the farmer’s market last weekend.”

“Savannah loves the farmer’s market! You two should meet. You’d love each other.” She took a bite of chicken.

I sipped my water. “I’d love to meet your friends. And your father, under better circumstances.”

“Oh, he’s gone back to”—she waved her hand in a circle—“wherever.”

“Wherever? You don’t know where he lives?”

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