Page 6 of Gideon's Gratitude

I yelped. Then I pressed a hand to my chest. I pivoted.

Archer held up his hands in anI mean you no harmgesture. “Or I can go and wait. I was just trying to be supportive.”

“Uh…” I scanned the space. I grabbed a plate from the cupboard and put the vegetables and container of hummus on it. I could’ve put itin a pretty bowl, but who the fuck cared? My goal was to get the too-attractive man out of the minuscule kitchen. The man’s presence filled a room easily, while I barely made a wisp of an appearance.

I shoved the plate into his waiting hands. “I’ll bring the soup and bread out in a minute. We can eat on the sofa facing the fire or at the dining room table, you pick.” With great effort, I turned back to the bread.Do I need to scrape off the singed part?Nope, it’d be okay. Crispy, but okay.

He’d disappeared.

Glancing into to the great room, I discovered he’d made the choice by placing a plate on the table.

I headed back to the kitchen, plated the bread, and returned to the dining room.

Archer sat politely, hands in his lap.

“Please begin. I’ll have the soup in, like, half a second.” I dropped the plate with the bread onto the table and made my way back to the kitchen. Dishing out two bowls of soup took mere moments, and I returned to the adjoining room.

Drinks.

Damn.

“Will water be okay?”

A quirked eyebrow. “Do you have some whisky?”

Ah, well.Crap.“Sorry, no alcohol in the place. I have water, milk, or apple juice.”

An odd expression. “Water is perfect. Thank you.”

Thank you. That’s not a phrase he says very often. I couldn’t put into words how I knew…but I just did. I made my way back to the kitchen. I poured two glasses of water from the jug in the fridge, shut everything off, and headed back yet again to the dining table.

Archer eyed his soup.

Cutlery.

How is this so complicated?

I moved to the china cabinet where my grandmother kept her silver cutlery. And…tarnished. Polishing had been on the long list of things I planned to do but never got around to.

I pivoted yet again and headed back to the kitchen. At least I’d run the dishwasher earlier, so the cutlery drawer was full of clean implements.

Am I even capable of hosting? Of being a normal human being?

I had my doubts.

After handing a spoon to my guest, I slipped into my chair, mindful of my back. Long experience had me suppressing the wince. The aroma of cream of mushroom soup mingled with the toasted bread. My saliva glands kicked into overdrive as I finally admitted how hungry I was.

Why is he not eating? Is there something wrong with the soup?“I can make something else.” Soup was something I was well-stocked in. Damn, I should’ve offered a choice.

“This is fine.” He took a tentative sip. “It’s, well, good.”

Not effusive praise, but as the man took another sip, I decided that was about as good as it was going to get.

Lucky had taken up position to my left, waiting patiently for anything to be dropped. I tried not to spoil the dog, but if the occasional food item landed on the floor, I didn’t stress about it. Lucky would’ve loved to be around the kids when they were younger—they often made messes that included food on the floor. I’d encouraged their playful natures, even though Leo hadn’t always been on board for the antics. Had those rascal tendencies been erased now I was gone?

“What flavor of soup is this?” Archer was eyeing the bowl, but I read curiosity, not disdain.

“Cream of mushroom.” I almost added the soup was my favorite, but that was probably self-evident since I’d made it.

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