Page 7 of Stripped Down at the Fair

That was probably way too forward. But it helped that I wasn’t making eye contact with her as I said the words. I had my back to her as I strode toward the kitchen, steaks in hand. I set them on the stove, then opened the oven and pulled out the potatoes I’d tossed in.

It had been a long time since I’d cooked for anyone. Years, actually. But sometimes I made a steak and baked potato just for myself. I was glad I did. It kept my cooking skills sharp.

“I’ll just move my belongings to the guest bedroom,” she said. “Thank you so much for letting me stay with you.”

“It’s in there.”

I gestured toward the door on the other side of the dining room table. My place wasn’t big, but it had two bedrooms. I kept a full bed in the guest room for when my mom visited. It was rare, though. She was married to a guy with a good government pension. They were all the way on the other side of the country, so I flew back and forth for Thanksgiving and Christmas.

By the time Cate emerged, I had the steaks and potatoes on the table. I was grabbing forks from the drawer, but when I turned to walk back to the table, I nearly tripped over my own feet again as my gaze landed on her. She was just so damn beautiful.

She’d kicked off her shoes at the door, probably to be polite, and her pink-painted toenails and dainty little feet made me wonder if I had a foot fetish. That sort of thing had never gottento me before, so I assumed it was more about my attraction to Cate than anything else.

“I’m just glad to have company,” I said. “Gets kind of lonely up here.”

Why had I told her that? My pride should have kicked in at some point before the words were out of my mouth. But I found that I wanted to open up to her. For the first time in my life, I wanted to share everything.

I gestured toward the seat across from me without saying a word. She had to sit first. I’d wait here until she did. Luckily, she didn’t delay long, but by then, I realized I’d forgotten to grab drinks.

If she didn’t like the type of white wine I’d bought, she didn’t show it. She just gave me a big smile and thanked me as I filled up the tumbler. Then she took a dainty sip before setting it down.

“I’ve never owned wine glasses,” I said. “I guess that makes me a less-than-ideal host.”

“It’s perfect. In college, I had a friend who insisted on having the right type of wine glass everywhere we went.” She rolled her eyes. “She dragged me to a wine tasting, but I was so out of my element. I like the sweeter stuff.” She lifted the tumbler. “Like this.”

I didn’t even know it was sweet. It had a decorative bottle that looked like something she’d like, but I knew absolutely nothing about wine.

I’d barely sat down when I realized I’d forgotten the steak knives and had to get up again. I was going to need a couple more swigs of beer before I could relax. I was working so hard to impress her, but it felt like I was just making a mess of things.

“This looks so good,” she said, picking up her fork.

She reached out to take the knife from me. My focus was on protecting her from the blade. That meant I didn’t realize until too late that our hands were going to touch.

I nearly dropped the knife at the electricity that shot through me—starting at my fingertips and going straight to a place that had been on high alert since I first saw her this morning.

Her eyes met mine, and she let out a gasp. Yes, she’d felt it too. What did that mean? It meant I was spending the night under the same roof as a woman I wanted. A woman who wanted me back.

“Thanks,” she said, quickly lowering her gaze to her plate. It was almost a nervous move, like she was shy.

“Do I make you nervous?” I asked.

I couldn’t believe how bold I was being. But again, I just felt comfortable being open with her. That didn’t mean she was comfortable being open with me, though. I had to keep that in mind.

“You do,” she said. “I guess I’m just not all that used to being around guys like you.”

I pretended I was more interested in slicing my steak than the conversation. “Guys like me?”

“You know, all muscles and good looks. You can have any woman you want.”

“And you can have any man you want,” I said with a shrug.

Now she was slicing. Her knife hovered just above the fatty part she was removing.

“That hasn’t proven to be true,” she said.

How was that possible? Any man with eyes would see her obvious beauty. Maybe she’d been a late bloomer. Or someone had done a number on her. Maybe wherever she was from, guys liked super skinny women and had no appreciation for eye-popping curves.

“Well, the men in your life need to get their eyes checked,” I said. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

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