Page 25 of Knight's Fall

The table was a battered thrift store buy he purchased when he moved in. He rarely used it since he ate out or sat in his recliner to eat. The table was used more as a catch-all. His mail, groceries or renovation supplies were often piled on there. He pushed his mail to one side, so she could place the box on top.

“Yes, please. I’m sorry. I only meant to deliver the pastries to you. I didn’t mean to freak out in your yard over a sn…Damn, I can’t even say the word.”

She took a long sip of water as soon as he placed the cold bottle in front of her. He retrieved his from the counter and sat down beside her. Opening the box, the sweet scent of the pastries tickled his nose, and he reached in to retrieve a cherry and cream cheese Danish drizzled in sticky icing. He took a big bite and looked over to see her fighting laughter. His eyebrows shot up, which only made her bark out a chuckle.

“You have cherry filling on your beard.” She pointed at the spot before standing to tear off a couple of pieces of paper towels from the roll on the counter. She handed them to him, and he used one to wipe his face, relieved to see her smiling.

He pushed the box toward her. “You can’t let me enjoy these by myself. Have one.”

She hesitated but reached in. He expected her to pull out one of the chocolate ones. In his experience, women preferred chocolate, but instead Courtlyn took out a lemon tart with cream topping. Her eyes rolled back in her head after she bit down into the delectable treat. He grinned.

“You always have that kind of reaction over the food you make?”

She paused in chewing to shoot him a sheepish look. “I make comfort food, so yes, I always have a reaction over my food. Food is best when you experience it and not just eat it. It sounds cheesy, but it’s true. Haven’t you ever felt that way about something?”

He wanted to say yes. His job gave him a thrill whenever he was on a mission, and he got a sense of satisfaction when someone bought a house he’d renovated. But he didn’t think he’d ever experience the level of passion she was talking about.

“Have you always loved to cook?” he asked to avoid answering her question.

“Learned at my grandmother’s side. She took me into her kitchen as soon as I was able to walk. I learned the proper way to make a grilled cheese when I was five. I was hooked after that.”

“There’s a proper way to make a grilled cheese?”

She took a smaller bite of her tart and shrugged. “There are actually several variations of a grilled cheese, but traditional grilled cheese sandwiches can be a life-changing experience if you have the right ingredients.”

“You mean cheese and bread?” He grinned so she’d know he teased her, and she rolled her eyes in response.

“Oh, my cooking-challenged friend, it’s so much more than cheese and bread. You come to my food truck when I get it running, and I’ll show you what I mean.”

“Food truck, huh? So you’re not planning to work at the diner indefinitely?”

She shook her head as she polished off the tart. He’d already finished his Danish and was working on his second, this time a blueberry/lemon flavored one.

“The diner is just a way for me to save money to buy what I need. Tabby, the owner, pays pretty well, and I’ve tried to put back as much money as I can. I’m very close to having enough.”

He tilted his water bottle to her, and she rose hers to do the same. They tapped the bottles in a toast, and he raised his in a mock salute to her plan. “You let me know when the grand opening is, and I’ll be the first one in line.”

They sipped their water together, and when she lowered her bottle, she smiled. “Thank you. For distracting me. And for getting rid of the sna…well, you know. I’ve been with guys who only made fun of me for being afraid of the ‘good ones’, as they called them. They thought it was something I should just get over. It’s not that simple.”

His last swallow of water went down painfully around the lump suddenly forming in his throat. “Listen, when I told you about my pilot friend, I wasn’t implying—”

“Oh, I know. You were just trying to be helpful, not critical. The problem is every time I see one, I start remembering the time when I was a kid, around seven, I think. My cousin was bitten by a rattlesnake trying to protect me. She was my best friend, and I didn’t know what to do. I waited too long to get help, and she almost died. She recovered, but she had some long-term problems because of the length of time the poison was in her system. I learned the difference between the harmless and dangerous ones, so I would know for next time. But I still freeze every time I see one. It doesn’t matter. I’ve been that way most of my life.”

“You still managed to warn me before I could step on it.”

“I didn’t want you getting another injury. Not when you’re still healing from the last one. You seem to be moving better. Not that I’ve been watching you or anything. I was just thinking compared to the last time I saw you.”

His grin returned. “I am moving better, but I’m impatient to get back to normal. I have renovations to finish, and I’m ready to get back to work.”

“Oh, you’re one of those.”

“What do you mean?”

She settled back against her chair, her eyes focusing on her bottle as she twirled it between her hands. “You’re someone who always has to keep busy. If you’re not working your day job, you’re working at renovating your house. Then when it’s finished, you move on to the next one. If you’re not doing any of those, you’re coming to the rescue of kooky neighbors who lock themselves out of their house.”

He chuckled. “You think you have me all figured out.”

“Hardly,” she said with sarcasm dripping from the word. “But I do have to say, have you ever thought that your injury is the universe’s way of saying it’s time for you to rest instead of work? Everyone deserves to rest sometimes. It gives our body a chance to reset. It’s good for you.”

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